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JVL

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CORPUS, Inc - World Cup 2026
CONTENT WARNING: This story includes themes of transformation and body control with a suggestive approach. If this type of narrative is not to your liking or you do not meet the recommended age, we suggest you do not continue. All images used (if any) belong to their respective owners. I claim no authorship over them and they are only used for illustrative purposes. If you decide to go ahead, welcome to Possessed Desires, where mind and body are never completely under your control.
CORPUS, Inc - World Cup 2026
With the World Cup just around the corner, starting in Mexico City. Tourism had undoubtedly exploded like lava from an erupting volcano: fans, tourists, everyone eager to see what the Soccer World Cup had in store and the wonders the host country could offer.
But at the same time, thanks to the need for lodging, transportation, and everything else that tourists would inevitably require, prices had skyrocketed. One-night stays were more expensive than a new cell phone, flights were overbooked, and available spaces weren't exactly... comfortable for the price.
This created the perfect opportunity for CORPUS, Inc. and its new summer project. Why stress about booking a flight, finding a decent hotel, and still having to get close to the wonders that Mexico City had to offer? Why not take over the body of a local? Language barriers vanished in the blink of an eye, accommodations weren't so complicated, and in most cases, you ended up with a perfect body for the rest of your vacation.
Or at least that was the experience of most of the clients who dared to approach CORPUS, Inc. and place their trust and love of soccer in their hands.
Youssef, Morocco - 48 years old
I have to admit that when I first saw the CORPUS, Inc. ad, I had my doubts. I thought it was a scam. It landed in my work email, and I thought: Body swapping? Possession?
I was about to delete it, but a little curiosity got the better of me. I'd always been a soccer fanatic, and my life was kind of... monotonous. I had a good (and very routine) office job, a wife, no sons, no daughters. And at my age, I highly doubt that ever happened. I kept checking the site for testimonials, and I have to admit something caught my attention. That, and the fact that the prices were ridiculously low compared to a flight and even the hotel that was still to come. Just one month, all paid for and included, cost the same as a round trip! لقد كانت صفقة رابحة.
I tried to convince my wife to come with me but she flatly refused, saying it was unnatural and blah blah blah, so I preferred to leave my body "stored" while I possessed this guy. لا أندم على أي شيء!
The tan of this skin is so damn attractive! His pecs are gigantic, my shirts barely fit and I'm always afraid they'll rip because of the volume of his muscles, haha! And damn, being back in my early twenties is fantastic, I'm in the prime of his youth, and with this body? I've never been this muscular or well-endowed (the guy has a killer ass!). His biceps are gigantic and I'm truly fascinated by everything about being here, the food, the music, the men. Uh… It's kind of weird, but it turns out the original owner of this body is gay. I didn't have a problem with it, the other bodies were taken and I thought it didn't matter, I'm straight as a fiddle, but damn, not in this body, haha! In my old body I would never have dared to do this, the customs and traditions are very, very strict, but here? I've kissed as many guys as there are streets in Mexico, they never stop wanting to get their hands on me! Do I feel bad for my wife? A little. I still talk to her and call her at night, but other than that, it's like I'm in a state of perfect euphoria; and she can't be hurt by something she'll never know about. Right? What happened in Mexico, stays in Mexico.
Valentín, Argentina – 32 years old
Pelutudo! How could I miss this? As soon as I got notifications on my phone about the CORPUS, Inc. promotion, I was immediately pulling out my card to pay! I love soccer, it's in my blood.
I have a somewhat… average physique, I won't say it's a marvel of the world but I'm not too out of shape either. I'm slim with a slight belly from not exercising as much as I used to. The demands of a job and the stress of it all take their toll. But in this body, hohoho! These biceps are tremendous! Like freaking grapefruits, sometimes I feel like biting them!
I don't know what the original owner of this body is doing in mine. It was cheaper to just let him stay inside me than to possess him. I guess he's sightseeing or something, but what the hell do I care? I'm going to take the win-win situation! He can have my skinny body all he wants while I keep his muscles. Look at these thighs! I bet I could burst something between them!
The only thing that bothers me a little is how huge my feet are. I must have gone up almost four sizes. They feel clumsy. It's not something I'm used to, but if I have to put up with big feet in exchange for being a damn stud, bring on those gigantic feet! Hahaha. I don't have to worry about not being able to see the match, about people respecting me, or about them trying to rob me. That used to worry me a lot! But now, any guy moves aside to let me pass. I feel powerful! I'm seriously thinking about extending my stay. I thought about following the World Cup by changing bodies little by little, but I think I can watch it on TV or something. The only thing that matters to me now is staying in this perfect body.
Lachlan, Australia – 24 years old
I think jet lag is one of the things I hate most about traveling to other parts of the world. Australia almost always has a huge time difference compared to Western countries. And I love to travel!
My original plan was to go to Mexico and then head to one of its beaches. I love feeling the sand, the salt water, riding the waves – it's in my blood, you know? But jet lag was a real headache that I didn't want to deal with this time, so when I saw CORPUS, Inc. displays at the airport, I thought it was better to trade my round-trip ticket for a local body.
And dude, I wasn't disappointed! Mexico is a fantastic place, its beaches are great, but wow! Their bodies were so much better! I'm loving this muscular physique; it's similar to mine but at the same time so damn different! Their thick legs, their biceps, that ass, god! I love how jet-black hair looks on me; I'm usually blonde, but this tan is worth every second. I never understood the supposed "Latin charm", but now that I'm living it, in a very literal sense, it's fabulous! Maybe watching football wasn't one of my main goals, but it turns out they give you your national team's uniform or something like that, and hehe, I love how it looks.
Would I prefer to watch it in a swimsuit? Yeah, but a trip to a swimsuit shop can wait. Maybe I want to have a little more fun in front of the mirror – new body, new limits to explore.
Camille, France – 45 years old.
Ces fils de putes! I was supposed to have arranged my exchange with CORPUS, Inc. to find me a female body, not a fucking stinking gorilla! What am I supposed to do in this body?! I wanted to accompany my husband in his athletic pursuits in the body of some young Latina woman, that was my idea! Not this! It sucks!
The sweat is so earthy and acidic it's going to make me cry, and that… thing! between my thighs is fucking uncomfortable, I have to keep adjusting it no matter how small the steps I take. What am I supposed to do for a month trapped in this body? I can't ask for a refund, or exchanges, and to top it all off, my husband is who knows where, like some fucking lost suitcase. It seems they sent his consciousness to another body because of a system error. I don't know where he is, I don't know who he is now, or what I'm going to do. We'll see each other in a month, that's for sure, but… merde! Am I going to have to be a stinky man for a month?!
I don't even have tickets to any match; my husband had those. What am I going to do?! Ugh! And this feels so… sticky. Oh no, no, no, no. I need to go to the bathroom again. I'm going to have to touch that thing. No! How disgusting…
Chase, United States – 20 years old.
Was I interested in soccer? Well, a little. I think I'm more of a basketball or American football fan, but! CORPUS, Inc. had launched a special program for university students under the pretext of the World Cup. Several of my classmates decided to go to other host countries or cities, but me? I wanted Mexico.
Why? To be honest, I haven't the slightest idea. But there's something about the vibe that's incredibly appealing! The festive atmosphere, the music, I always wanted to go, but I was worried about looking like an… Pendejo? Woah! It feels so good to pronounce it correctly! Besides all the stigma surrounding foreigners, so having your own “local” body and using it however you want is fantastic.
Like the movie Avatar! It turns out this body has a tremendous tolerance for drinking, and it's attractive to other guys here; it's like a hot magnet!
It wasn't hard for me to do this in my old body; I'm what you might call a "fratbro", proud of it, by the way. But being in this body is... different, sooo different. I don't know if it's the steroid-fueled nerd look, the short hair, or the fact that I can't see without his glasses, but I'm fascinated by being in this body here!
The parties, the streets, shit, the encounters! Did you know what happens in the last car of the subway? In my old body, I didn't feel very comfortable exploring my sexuality. I knew I liked other men, but I don't think that would be very well received in the fraternity. I depend a lot on my athletic scholarship, and I don't want to throw away my future just to... experiment. I know I have to be brave to come out, but I don't think I can in my own body. So, being in someone else's body and being able to do everything I was afraid of is fucking fantastic. Do I like it? No, I LOVE IT. It's the best experience of my life!
I hope the guy who ended up with my body is enjoying being a stereotypical frat bro, blond and with more muscles than brains, because I'm enjoying being in this Mexican body so much!
Alejandro, Spain – 34 years old.
This wasn't the damn body I was expecting, macho. In the application I filled out, I clearly specified that I wanted a muscular guy, my same age, very hairy, dark-skinned, with black hair, and an almost stallion-like physique. I paid a fortune to have those VERY specific wishes fulfilled. And what greets me when I arrive?
A hairless, blond, skinny guy with legs and arms as long as spaghetti, and in his early twenties.
And what does the company end up telling me? That they can't offer refunds, they can't give me back my old body, that they apologize, and in return, they'll give me a 10% discount on my next purchase. No me jodas!
I was supposed to come to Mexico to make out with guys and have them worship me like I was their god!
I saved every single penny of my shitty job as a computer programmer for this, just one month where I would be a huge Latino guy, making locals and foreigners tremble the moment I walked in anywhere. I expected a testosterone-fueled musk, that the slightest trace of sweat would stink like chili peppers in vinegar. And you know what this guy smells like?! It's like he's practically oozing vanilla from his pores!
Have I tried to pick up guys with my new look? Ah, here's the worst part! I want to pick up men, but they're trying to dominate ME. I didn't come here for this! And the really worst part is... I don't feel a thing! Turns out this body is straight. I thought that wouldn't matter. The form said it was a minor issue and that the body would adapt to my psyche, but no! I don't know what I'll do. I don't feel comfortable doing anything heterosexual with this body, but at the same time, it's the only thing it's comfortable with. I just want this fucking month to be over. It was supposed to be the best vacation of my life.
Ren, Japan – 19 years old.
My family wasn't entirely sure about taking over CORPUS, Inc. But they were all huge soccer fans; they went crazy for being in the stadium, cheering and shouting whether their favorite team won or lost. They were... passionate. On the other hand, I'm not like that; I'm a nerd. I prefer reading comics, mangas and playing video games, which was a problem for my father, who was always trying to steer me toward the "right path", and this was one of his many attempts to do so.
At the CORPUS, Inc. travel agency in Japan, they convinced him that if they placed me in a soccer-fanatic body, the passion would become more comfortable for me, and I would accept it as my own. My father bought five spots without hesitation: his, my mother's, my older brother's, my middle sister's, and mine, the youngest of the three.
What was the problem?
My dad didn't read the terms and conditions of the bodies he was renting properly, and they all turned out to be male. This was a huge problem for my mom and sister; they obviously weren't too happy about having huge muscles and buzz cuts while their voices were ridiculously deep, haha(そして付け加えておかなければならないのは、彼の「寛大な」美徳はそれだけにとどまらなかったということだ。)
My dad tried to file a complaint, but his signature on the documents invalidated any claim, so… My parents slept in separate rooms for about three days; customs surrounding homosexuality weren't very positive in Japan. But what happened last night? Oh, haha, it turns out their feelings are way stronger than their ideology, and they got tangled up in bed. I thought we were having an earthquake when I felt the whole house shake, haha!
Oh, and me? Well, like I said, I was used to being a nerd: straight hair, almost mushroom-shaped hair, thick glasses, skinny, short, and the body I got is gorgeous!
It has tanned skin, is about 50cm taller than me, weighs about 70kilos, and most of it is muscle mass, and damn, I have these gigantic arms! I couldn't be happier to be in this body. I love how my areolas harden when they rub against the shirts I wear; But the million-dollar question is… Have I felt more passion for football? Ha, 絶対にありえない、それは全く不可能だ!
I flatly refused to go with them to the stadium. I preferred to stay put playing video games and exploring this body. The pecs are fantastic, I love the chin, and the scent is… Damn, it's fantastic. I've never smelled such a strong odor, or at least not coming from myself. I can't stop smelling my armpits or reaching down to collect some musk between my legs. Ugh, shit, it's hard again… Well, I guess if I act like a pervert in this body, it doesn't matter much. It's “my” body at the end of the day, right?
Callum, England – 67 years old.
My glory days were a couple of decades ago. I'm not what I used to be. I used to have a great physique, I was athletic, I had charisma. Now I'm just a wrinkled raisin waiting to end up six feet under. I loved soccer; there was nothing else I preferred to watch on TV. My life was already so monotonous: just being in a nursing home, walking around, sitting for hours in front of the TV, sleeping, and then back again.
CORPUS, Inc. appeared at the perfect time. And they ended up putting me in this guy's body! See these biceps? And these abs, oh, oh! These pecs! I seriously wonder if it would be a good idea to wear a sports bra or something, hahaha. They're truly gigantic and heavy. This guy can't be more than twenty-five years old. My back doesn't hurt, nor do my joints. I'm strong and can run like a damn gazelle!
I haven't done anything but fiddle around here and there, also playing with… a couple of his things. It turns out this guy is also gay, and not just any gay guy – he seems to be seriously kinky. At first, I was shocked. I'd been married for almost thirty years to the love of my life, may she rest in peace. We were heterosexual and monogamous our whole lives; “games” in the bedroom weren't exactly common.
So, finding this guy's apartment full of leather outfits, harnesses, toys of all sizes, colors, and textures, and a laundry basket overflowing with musky socks and sticky underwear was disruptive, but woah, I've never felt so alive!
Do I feel like a pervert? Yes. Am I regretting it? No! Being young again is so fantastic, and the best part is I can eat again too! I can stuff myself with as much pizza and soda as I want. A few days ago, I was so horny and so hungry that I started rubbing a piece of chicken on… You know, it ended up all greasy and the chicken covered in a whitish liquid that was fucking delicious in my mouth!
I don't know if it's his psyche mixed with mine or if I had this dark side inside me, but I really love being in his body. Fuck! I was supposed to be at the stadium over an hour ago, the game already started, it was the one I cared about! Oh well… If I'm not going then…
Thiago, Brazil – 28 years old.
The body I received was very different from the one I had ordered. I'm a bodybuilder, I have a tan, my muscles are like rocks, always masculine and imposing, like a wild beast. But my new identity is the complete opposite: thin, blond, with silky hair like Rapunzel, with certain mannerisms that, no matter how hard I try to control them, still come naturally.
Mas eu gosto disso. I thought I would hate it from the first second I opened my eyes. The staff tried to explain, almost tripping over each other's words as soon as they noticed me looking at my reflection more closely than usual, but this was perfect! I don't know why I loved it so much, but this figure is so different from my usual self.
The soft cheekbones, the designer hair, the lack of muscles – I don't have to worry about bending down and hitting my head on the doorframe, or if I'm too wide to sit somewhere. I don't feel heavy or gigantic. I like the way other, stronger guys look at me, and, wow, I just want to run into their arms.
Maybe the only thing I don't like is that this guy's personality clashes with mine, and it turns out he's really, really shy. It's making it so hard for me to go out and meet new people. But all is not lost. He has friends, and he even has a… boyfriend. Did he tell him about the exchange? No. Does he know? Definitely not. So, I guess for the rest of the month, I can enjoy being thinner, having a loving boyfriend who has no idea who I really am, and spending hours and hours admiring myself in the mirror.
Adoro a incompetência desta empresa, obrigada.
Diego, Mexico – 22 years old.
Did CORPUS, Inc. also have coverage in the very country it was promoting, so others could occupy our bodies like miniature hotels? Yes. Did people complain? Yes. Did the government, FIFA, or CORPUS, Inc. itself do anything about it? No.
Did I take advantage and grab someone else's body? Of course I did!
I must admit that I don't like soccer at all; on the contrary, I hate it. I've never had a good relationship with that sport, and I simply find it silly to watch two men chasing a ball like idiots. But, being in someone else's body and having all their attributes is like pure bliss; having these pecs is fantastic! It turns out this guy's body belongs to an influencer who wanted to go on vacation to Europe. I was lucky enough to find the body available before another foreigner took it, and now I am him!
Tall, muscular, wearing expensive clothes, living in a luxury apartment, they gave me a long, boring lecture about soccer and things to do in the city, just out of obligation (cómo si no supiera yo a dónde ir en mi propia ciudad).
I still record things for his social media, and I make sure he sees everything I upload. It turns out the terms and conditions of the exchange exempt me from or don’t make me responsible for the "misuse" of his body, as long as I don't leave marks or permanent physical damage, everything will be fine. But that doesn't cover reputation or what I can do with his personal brand.
I love fame, but I would definitely love to see more of the "leaked" things about this body, see him on his knees with his tongue hanging out, more... intimate videos, scandals about "indecent" acts in public places. Do I want to humiliate him? Of course! Am I going to feel bad about it? A little, but I want to have several tangible memories when I get back into my body. I've been sending my old number hundreds and hundreds of photos and videos in very compromising positions. You'd be surprised how flexible this body is.
The best part is that he signed a contract that clearly specifies that nothing can be mentioned about the exchange or use of CORPUS, Inc as a company that rents his body, if I do something, “he” did it of his own free will and conscience.
And I'm going to do whatever I want with it. Poor guy, he would have been better off going on vacation by plane.
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Hey everyone!
I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you liked it, don't forget to follow it and share it so more people can discover it.
Remember that in the coming months, I'll mostly be posting summer-themed stories. Other series you enjoy, like Haunted, Slipped, and others, will still be available, but I'll try to give them a more summery feel. I hope you're enjoying it!
I'm always open to suggestions and ideas, so if you have any fantasy or scenario in mind, let me know in the comments or in messages. See you in the next story... Who knows what body you will occupy this time?
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Lending A Hand
A remake of sort of this story by Bodyswapper. One of my absolute favourite stories of his, that I just had to build on. Decided to switch the model so there could be more coherent images.
Derek got in trouble at school again, he was texting me as his dad was driving him back to the school because a teacher of his wanted to talk to his dad about his grades and overall performance in school. He sounded like he really needed help, and I have just the power to do so. I hung up knowing what he would ask had I stayed on the line. I went to my room and locked myself in, so my parents wouldn't see me while doing the change. I lied on my bed, letting peace and harmony flood my mind.
I started floating above my body, I could see my soul lifting from my vessel. I thought of my friends dad, quickly the scene changed around me, I was in the back of a car, it was parked off to the side of the road and looked like they were in an argument. Luckily I landed in the correct car. Still in my not so solid state of being I rubbed my invisible hand on Derek's arm to reassure him that I am here. With that move I gently sat on his father's lap. I felt the warmth and tingle of this sensation before I plunged in. His body jerked but welcomed me, I quickly sat up more straight until my new body could finally relax. His presence was soon lifted from this body to be moved to mine until I switch back. I looked down at his father's body not being able to believe how amazing it felt to be like this.
Derek had a goofy grin on this face knowing that I was put in place now. I knew he was excited about not getting in trouble. To make a joke I grabbed a hat of mine in the backseat, remembering I left it there.
"Still look good on me?" I said jokingly in my new baritone voice. Derek laughed and took of the hat knowing his father would never wear such a thing. We waited until my new memories sunk in so I could act a little better when talking to the teacher. I suddenly knew how to talk like he did and act just the same. I scratched my beard unconsciously and started driving the car, Derek almost looked scared at how well I was acting as his father. He's seen me imitate others before but never his dad.
We approached the school, little did I know I was walking with the same gait as Derek's father would, which I now know his real name is Jim thanks to these memories. After we finally got settled down in the teachers room, I instantly said "Hi, Jim Boshen" to introduce myself, it surprised me a little as well. Everything went as according to plan and we even finished early! I snuck off to the bathroom to explore a little more. I almost ripped the buttons off the shirt trying to reveal my new vessel. I ran my fingers through my new hair, scratched my beard again and felt my manly body hair before going into a stall and jacking off. I felt powerful each time I jerked. I spat all over the bathroom. As the cum released from my penis I knew I didn't want to leave this body. I needed to keep it for myself.
After I cleaned up I headed back to the car with Derek right behind me. I drove back to the area where I first went into Jim Boshen. I told Derek "Now this is the tricky part, don't ask me about the swap when I wake up, it will only confuse us both." I said as a cover, I just wanted to stay.
I faked like I was leaving this body, I jerked a little to make it look real. I came back to this reality with a stone cold look on my face, which I saw Jim wear all the time and Derek looked at his father, he believe I was actually his dad. We pulled into the driveway, as we entered MY house, I saw my 'wife' I hugged her, and knew she believed it was her husband. I knew I could stay like this, and no one would ever know otherwise, and was life great to me as Jim Boshen.
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It had been a few weeks since I faked I left Derek's father and instead decided to take over his life. I just loved pretending to be him, to feel his mature body move as mine, and to see his sexy bearded face in the reflections whenever I went.
However, even though the longer I stayed inside Jim Boshen's body the more I could act and behave like him, there was always that slight slip-up now and then which caused others to glare at me suspiciously. Like when Derek caught me biting the tip of my pens as I worked from home, something his dad apparently had never done before. Slowly but surely I think he was catching on to me. So I only had one option left if I truly wanted to take over Jim Boshen's life completely.
One evening I told the family I was feeling unwell and had to go to bed early. What I actually did was lock myself in the bedroom, undressed myself, and laid down, before relaxing myself till I could feel my soul lift out of Jim's body. His body jerked around for real this time as I actually left his body, and as I looked down I saw his gaping drooling mouth and the fat protruding member stand up straight. I felt sad to leave this wonderful vessel I had called home for the last few weeks, and was almost tempted to jump straight back in and jerk one off right there and then. But I knew I had more important things to do, and I would be back as fast as possible.
I focused onto my old body and immediately found myself in my old bedroom. My former body was sluggishly sitting in front of the computer and playing a game. Of course, I could tell that trapped inside that body was the real Jim Boshen's soul, having been forced to act and live as me for the last few weeks since we traded vessels. Normally I'd always return and switch us back before whoever I possessed soul woke up in my body, but the few times I didn't my powers would make sure my old body went into some sort of autopilot mode. This time however was different. I had never been someone else this long, nor had it ever felt this comfortable and right being someone such as Derek's father. I loved using Jim Boshen's identity, I loved being inside his sexy mature body, and I loved jerking his fat heavy meat off every night before going to sleep. So I had already made up my mind.
I went behind my old body and shoved an arm inside of its back, before pulling the soul of Derek's father out. Jim appeared to be confused and slightly dazed for a few seconds before he caught his bearings and realized he could finally move around freely. "Thank god! I'm finally free from that adolescent body! I can't thank you e-"
I didn't give him a chance to react as I suddenly sprung forward and pushed myself against his chest. At first there was a bit of resistance, but I could see that my hands were slowly sinking into his flesh. "W-what's going on? W-W-what are you doing?!!" He grunted, seemingly out of both pain and pleasure. I pushed harder, further inside of him, causing my elbows to be fully submerged into his hairy chest. "S-Stop!"
I was so close to him now that when I looked up I could see his handsome face and lusciously full beard. I couldn't help myself and pushed myself up, mashing my lips against his tasteful ones. That somehow caused him to drop his guard for a brief second, which was enough for me to push myself inside and completely disappear inside of him, inside of Jim Boshen's soul.
"Please... nnghh... stop! Whatever you're... nnnnghhh... doing!" His face winced, his body jerked around senselessly, and he was sweating profusely. Until he suddenly stopped short and closed his eyes. When he opened them up again the eye color briefly flashed over with a shade of blue before returning to their original brown color.
It was done, I had fully and completely merged myself with Jim Boshen's soul.
I gave off a deep heavy moan with Jim's voice as I looked down at myself. I clenched my large and rugged hands together and savoured the familiar feeling of the power this form gave me. I quickly found myself painfully harder than I had ever been before, and once again contemplated jerking one off right there.
But alas, I could feel time running out and my powers slipping from me. So I gave my former comatose body one last look before focusing back onto the father's bedroom. Quickly I walked over and laid back down onto the naked unconscious body and felt myself melt right into it. Just in time as well as I felt the last of my powers disappear for good. After all, I was Derek's father now, and Derek's father obviously had no possession powers. There was no going back. I had traded my youth and powers to be able to perfectly pass off as and live as Jim Boshen, for the rest of my life.
A decision I was beyond happy with, as I regained my senses just in time to feel this overwhelming orgasm pass through my amazing body. Load after load of creamy white semen erupted from my thick meat, literally causing me to thrust my hips upwards and clench my toes and fingers firmly.
"FUUUUUUUUuuuUuuuuucckKKKKK!" I roared out, causing the photo frames and bedroom windows to shake slightly.
As the last of my heavy balls quickly emptied out, I noticed my hairy thighs, manly chest, and even beard was now covered in my own creation. Sticky and creamy residue I was very happy to viciously devour down into my mouth.
By the time 'my wife' Helene came knocking on the door asking if I were fine, I had already wiped myself clean and covered myself up with one of my favourite brief shorts. Opeing the door to the slightly musky bedroom, a wide grin emerged on my handsome bearded face as I saw my perfect reflection in the hallway mirror behind her. I ran a rugged hand across the pelt of fur on my chest, and felt pride and ecstacy over who I had finally become.
"Yes, yes honey. I'm perfectly fine. In fact, I feel more like myself than I have ever felt before..."
The Mogui's Curse: Mistaken Skin
(AI Generated - A spin-off from my story last month, set in the same universe of The Mogui’s Curse. Enjoy!)
The sun blazed over the turquoise waters of the island resort, its golden rays shimmering on the waves as laughter and music filled the air. I was a 22-year-old college student on summer break, soaking in the carefree chaos with my group of friends. We’d rented a beach villa at this sprawling resort, a paradise of palm trees, white sand, and endless parties. The days blurred into a haze of tequila shots, beach volleyball, and late-night skinny dipping, our laughter echoing through the humid nights. I was the quiet one in the group, always a bit self-conscious about my smooth, hairless body and the constant pressure to stay in shape. My friends, a mix of jocks and socialites, didn’t share my insecurities, their confidence as bold as their sunburns.
The resort wasn’t just for college kids like us. Families filled the grounds, their kids splashing in the pool while parents sipped cocktails under umbrellas. One family caught our attention during a family party night in the resort’s open-air pavilion. A Middle-Eastern family, their voices loud and warm, danced to the live band’s music.
The father stood out, a big, burly man with a thick, hairy frame that seemed to take up twice the space of anyone around him. He was dancing with his kids, his chunky arms wrapped around them, his laughter booming over the music. His body was a forest of dark hair, covering his broad chest, arms, and legs, the hair so dense it looked like a pelt. His belly jiggled as he moved, a soft mound of flesh that spoke of indulgence rather than neglect. His face was almost hidden behind a lush, black beard, streaked with strands of gray, and his thick, tousled brown hair matched the wildness of his appearance. Despite his size, his brown eyes sparkled with a kind, carefree joy that I envied.
My friends couldn’t help but snicker, whispering among themselves as we sat at a nearby table, our drinks sweating in the heat.
“Look at that guy,” one of them, a wiry guy named Jake, muttered, stifling a laugh. “He’s like a walking bear rug. Bet he sweats buckets under all that hair.”
Another friend, a blonde girl named Sarah, giggled, leaning in. “Can you imagine how heavy he must be? All that hairy, sweaty flesh… gross.”
They laughed, their voices low but cruel, and I forced a chuckle, my cheeks burning with shame. I didn’t say much, my silence a shield for the secret I kept buried deep. I was still in the closet, my attraction to men a quiet ache I’d never shared. And truthfully, I found the father attractive in a way that made my stomach twist with jealousy. His carefree confidence, his unapologetic embrace of his thick, hairy body, was everything I wished I could be. I hated how self-conscious I felt about my smooth, lean frame, always obsessing over staying in shape to fit some ideal I could never quite reach.
The night wore on, and I drank more than I intended, the tequila shots blurring the edges of my thoughts. The music pulsed through the pavilion, the jovial father spinning his kids around, his hairy arms flexing with each lift, his laughter a deep rumble that carried over the crowd. I watched him from the corner of my eye, my friends’ mocking whispers fading as I lost myself in the sight of him.
Then, the need to relieve myself grew urgent, and I stumbled toward the restroom, my head spinning from the alcohol. I pushed through the door, my vision hazy, and collided with a solid, warm wall of flesh. It was the Middle-Eastern father, shirtless and glistening with sweat, his hairy chest pressing against me as he too hurried to pee. The impact knocked the breath from me, and I stumbled back, my hands instinctively bracing against his broad torso.
“Whoa there, my friend!” he boomed, his voice deep and jovial, his brown eyes crinkling with a drunken grin. He was clearly tipsy, his movements loose and carefree. “Looks like we both had too much fun out there!”
Before I could apologize, he pulled me into a warm, sweaty hug, his thick arms enveloping me, the heat of his body radiating through me. I stiffened at first, surprised by the sudden intimacy, the coarse hair of his chest brushing against my smooth skin, his musk a heady mix of sweat and spice that clung to my cheek. But as the hug lingered, I felt myself relax, leaning into it, my face pressed against his damp flesh, the scent intoxicating.
I couldn’t help my curiosity, my hands wandering as I squeezed his thick dad bod, feeling the soft bulk of his belly, the dense hair crinkling under my fingers, the warmth of his skin a stark contrast to my own. The sensation sent a shiver through me, a secret thrill I couldn’t deny. He felt my hands exploring, and with a hearty laugh, he released me, stepping back with a playful grin.
“No touching, eh? This is mine,” he teased, running his rugged hands across his hairy, thick chest, the motion emphasizing his unapologetic confidence.
I nodded, my face flushing with a mix of embarrassment and admiration, my eyes unable to look away from his bold display. He brushed past me, heading to one of the urinals, sliding down his shorts with a casual ease. I stood there, frozen, as his thick, juicy ass came into full view, the hair dusting the cheeks catching the dim light, the flesh bouncing slightly with his movement. Even more so when he reached around to scratch it, his fingers digging into the soft mounds, the ass jiggling playfully as if to seduce me.
I was lost in the thought of touching those juicy mounds of flesh, my mind racing with forbidden fantasies, the image searing into my memory. I didn’t even notice when he finished, washing his hands with a quick splash of water before turning to me with a smile. He placed one of his large, rugged hands on my shoulder, the touch warm and firm, before brushing past me to rejoin his family at the party.
I returned to my friends, my mind a whirl of conflicting emotions, the memory of his hairy chest and thick ass lingering like a forbidden secret. I couldn’t stop imagining what it would feel like to be so free in a body like his, to carry that confidence with every step. The night ended with me and my friends stumbling back to our villa, the image of the hairy daddy etched into my thoughts as I drifted into a restless sleep.
—
A few nights later, the resort suddenly descended into chaos. It started with a scream, sharp and piercing, cutting through the hum of the evening crowd. I was at the resort’s main plaza with my friends, a sprawling open area lined with palm trees and string lights, the air thick with the scent of grilled seafood and coconut sunscreen. We’d been drinking, our laughter loud as we played a drunken game of truth or dare, when the first scream rang out. More followed, a chorus of terror as people began to flee, their faces pale, their voices shouting about a monster skinning humans alive and devouring them. The crowd surged around us, families grabbing their kids, couples sprinting toward the beach, their footsteps pounding against the cobblestones.
My friends froze, their drunken haze giving way to confusion.
“What the hell is going on?” Sarah asked, her voice trembling as she clutched Jake’s arm.
Before anyone could answer, a jock in our group, a broad-shouldered guy named Tyler, scoffed, his arrogance unshaken. “It’s probably some stupid event, like a haunted house thing. Let’s go check it out.”
I hesitated, my gut telling me to run, but Tyler’s confidence was infectious, and the group followed him deeper into the plaza, toward the source of the screams. I trailed behind, my heart pounding, my flip-flops slapping against the stone path.
We reached the center of the plaza, a wide clearing with a fountain at its heart, and stopped dead in our tracks. A pile of human skins lay discarded on the ground, their empty, glistening forms illuminated by the flickering string lights. The skins were intact, their faces frozen in expressions of horror, their limbs limp and hollow. Standing over the pile was a grotesque creature, its bony, clawed limbs glistening with a sickly sheen, its hollow black eyes glinting in the dim light. Its maw of jagged teeth dripped with blood as it devoured a quivering mass of flesh, the sound of its chewing wet and sickening.
It was a mogui, a skin-stealing ghoul that devoured humans and wore their skins to blend in. I’d only just happened to read about them in high school after I had to pick a random course during my second year and thus chose ancient mythology.
Tyler didn’t even have time to react. The mogui leapt onto him with a guttural snarl, its claws sinking into his shoulders as it pinned him to the ground.
“What the fuck!” Tyler screamed, his voice high with panic as the creature grabbed his mouth and pulled.
His skin stretched like latex, the sound a wet, tearing pop as the mogui yanked it over his head, peeling him alive in a single, fluid motion. Tyler’s screams turned to gurgles as his flesh was exposed, his body a quivering mass of muscle and blood, and the mogui devoured him whole, its jagged teeth tearing into his raw form with savage hunger. My friends screamed, scattering in all directions, their footsteps fading as they fled.
I tried to run, my legs heavy with terror, but I was too close. The mogui grabbed me from behind, its clawed hand wrapping around my throat, lifting me off the ground with effortless strength. I kicked and thrashed, my hands clawing at its bony arm, but its grip was irontight.
“No, please!” I begged, my voice a desperate sob as tears streamed down my face.
The mogui’s hollow eyes bored into mine, its rancid breath hot on my face, a mix of decay and blood that made me gag. It shoved its other clawed hand down my throat, its bony fingers wrapping around my tongue, the pain searing as its claws scraped against the inside of my mouth. I gagged, my lungs burning, my body convulsing as it pulled, a sickening tug radiating from my throat to my gut. With a violent yank, it drew my entire flesh out through my mouth, peeling me like a fruit, the sensation a ripping, tearing agony as my skin separated from my body. My skin came free in a single, intact piece, the sound a wet, sucking pop, and the mogui threw me to the ground, my exposed flesh hitting the cobblestones with a sickening thud, blood splattering around me.
It tossed my skin onto the pile, the empty shell of my face staring back at me, and turned to devour me, its jagged teeth glinting with hunger. But before it could strike, gunfire erupted, a group of security guards charging into the plaza, their weapons blazing. Bullets tore into the mogui, its grayish skin oozing black ichor as it roared in fury, dropping me to the ground as it fled, its heavy footsteps echoing into the night.
The guards chased after it, their shouts fading as they assumed I was already dead, my raw, bleeding form motionless on the cobblestones.
I felt myself slipping, my consciousness fading as blood pooled beneath me, the pain a white-hot inferno that consumed every thought. Every movement was torture, the cool night air searing my raw nerves, my vision swimming with black spots. But a primal instinct to survive surged within me, a desperate, animalistic drive that overpowered the pain. I dragged myself across the plaza, my exposed flesh scraping against the stone, leaving a thick trail of blood in my wake.
Each movement was agony, my muscles screaming, my vision blurring, but I reached the pile of skins, my trembling hands fumbling through the slick, warm pile, searching for my own. My mind was disoriented, my eyes blurry with tears and blood, and I grabbed what I assumed was my skin, the weight heavy in my hands as I pulled it toward me.
I was too weak to think clearly, my body trembling with shock as I slipped my raw arms into the skin, the flesh yielding with a wet squelch. The inside was slick and warm, the musk unfamiliar, a heavy, masculine scent that wasn’t my own. I pushed deeper, my raw legs sliding into the skin, the heat suffocating as I pulled it over my torso, the flesh stretching to accommodate my form.
It was only when I was fully inside, the skin too big, the weight too heavy, that I realized something was wrong. The limbs were too thick, the torso too broad, and the musk was overpowering, a mix of sweat, spice, and raw masculinity that didn’t belong to me. But it was too late. The mogui’s magic took hold, the skin tightening around me with a series of sickening cracks, my raw flesh expanding to fill the new form, bones stretching, muscles swelling, my insides becoming flesh and bone as they fused with the skin I’d chosen. The sensation was a mix of pain and perverse intimacy, the skin molding to me like a lover’s embrace, sealing me inside with a final, wet snap.
I blacked out, my consciousness slipping into darkness, the weight of my new body pulling me under.
—
I woke up half an hour later in the resort’s infirmary, the sterile scent of antiseptic sharp in my nose, the hum of fluorescent lights overhead. I was lying on a narrow bed, a thin blanket draped over me, my body heavy and unfamiliar. Voices murmured outside the room, a security guard and a nurse speaking in low tones.
“The monster escaped,” the guard said, his voice tense. “Wore one of the dead guard’s skins and drove off on a boat. We couldn’t catch it.”
The nurse sighed, her tone solemn. “At least we saved one. He’s awake now.”
They entered the room, the guard a broad-shouldered man with a shaved head, the nurse a petite woman with tired eyes. The guard forced a smile, trying to lighten the mood. “Happy you survived, sir. Wasn’t easy carrying you over here, considering how much bigger you are than me.”
I blinked, confusion clouding my mind. The guard was obviously bigger and stronger than me, his muscles straining against his uniform. I tried to speak, my throat dry, but the nurse cut in, her expression solemn. “You’re probably wondering where your family is... I’m so sorry, we couldn’t save them.”
I stared at her, my mind reeling. I had no family here, just my friends. “What are you talking about?” I croaked, my voice deep and gruff, unfamiliar to my ears.
They exchanged a glance, the nurse patting my arm gently. “You’re in shock. It’s okay, just get some rest.”
They left, closing the door behind them, leaving me alone with my confusion.
I noticed an unfamiliar wallet on the desk beside me, its leather worn and scratched. I reached for it, my hand heavy and sluggish, and froze as I saw my arm. It was thick, muscular, and covered in a dense mat of dark hair, the skin a warm olive tone that wasn’t mine. Panic surged through me as I flicked the wallet open, revealing an ID card. The photo showed the Middle-Eastern father from the family party night, his lush beard and kind brown eyes staring back at me. His name was written on the card: Joseph Arslan, age 47.
My heart pounded as I pulled the blanket off, revealing a body that wasn’t mine. My chest was broad and thick, covered in a pelt of dark hair that trailed down to a soft, chubby belly. My legs were massive, the hair so dense it looked like fur, and my hands were large and rugged, the fingers thick with calluses.
Realization crashed over me like a wave. I hadn’t crawled into my own skin. I’d accidentally chosen Joseph’s, the burly father we’d mocked, his hairy, chunky body now mine.
I stumbled out of the bed, my weight heavy and strange, my center of gravity off as I scrambled to the sink in the corner of the room, a small mirror hanging above it. The face staring back was Joseph’s, his lush beard covering most of his face, the black hair streaked with gray, his thick, tousled brown hair wild and unkempt. His brown eyes, kind but now wide with shock, looked back at me, the reflection a stranger’s.
“Oh my God, no… this isn’t me,” I whispered, my voice a deep, rumbling growl that echoed in the small room. I ran my hands over my face, the beard coarse under my fingers, the hair tugging at my skin as I pulled, hoping to find a seam, a way out. But the skin was fused to me, the mogui’s magic binding me to this new form.
I turned to the nurse, my voice rising in panic. “This is a mistake! I’m not Joseph! I’m a college student, my name is Ryan! The monster… it took my skin, and I… I put on the wrong one!”
The nurse and guard exchanged a look, their expressions a mix of pity and disbelief.
“Sir, you’re in shock,” the nurse said softly, her tone placating. “You’ve been through a lot. Your family… we couldn’t save them. It’s natural to feel confused.”
I shook my head, my beard swaying with the motion. “I don’t have a family here! I’m here with friends! You have to believe me!”
But they didn’t, their eyes filled with sympathy as they urged me to rest. Infuriated, I ignored their advice, storming out of the infirmary, my heavy footsteps echoing down the hall, the weight of Joseph’s body a constant reminder of my new reality.
—
I made my way back to the beach villa my friends and I had rented, the night air cool against my skin, the resort eerily quiet after the chaos. The villa was trashed, furniture overturned, windows shattered, the remnants of the mogui’s rampage evident in every corner. My friends were gone, either fled or devoured, their absence a hollow ache in my chest.
I went to my room, my suitcase still on the bed, and stripped off the hospital gown, the thin fabric falling to the floor. I tried to wear my old clothes, pulling on a pair of skinny jeans that strained against my thick, hairy legs, the denim refusing to stretch over my massive thighs. I tugged on a T-shirt, the fabric tight against my broad, hairy back, the seams creaking as I moved.
I glanced at a nearby mirror, and the sight was absurd: a hairy, thick bear of a man trying to fit into a college boy’s clothes, the shirt barely covering my hairy belly, the jeans stuck halfway up my thighs.
I brought my thick arms up, flexing my biceps, the muscle bulging under the dense hair, and the T-shirt ripped apart with a loud tear, the fabric falling to the floor in tatters.
“Holy shit,” I muttered, my deep voice startling me as I stared at my reflection. The hair on my arms was so thick, the olive skin stretched taut over my new bulk. I ran my hands over my chest, the hair crinkling under my fingers, the sensation both shocking and exhilarating.
“This body… it’s so big, so hairy,” I whispered, my voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and arousal. I looked down, my eyes widening at the sight of my new cock, massive and engorged, the thick shaft covered in a nest of dark hair at the base. It was uncircumcised, the foreskin heavy and warm, and it throbbed with a need I couldn’t ignore.
I kicked away the skinny jeans, knowing I’d never fit into them again, and lay on the bed in my full, hairy nakedness, the mattress creaking under my weight.
“I’m really stuck like this… I’m Joseph now,” I murmured, my voice a deep rumble as I grabbed my new cock with my rugged fingers, the calluses rough against the sensitive skin. I stroked slowly at first, the sensation overwhelming, my entire body humming with pleasure and desire.
“God, this cock… it’s so thick, so heavy,” I moaned, my other hand reaching up to tug at my beard, the hair coarse and thick, the slight pain of pulling at it mingling with the pleasure radiating from my groin. I jerked harder, my deep, gruff moans filling the room, the sound primal and raw, a stark contrast to the voice I’d known my whole life.
I pulled at the foreskin fiercely, the sensation intense, and tugged at my beard with more force, hoping to loosen the heavy, hairy skin around me, to find a way out.
“Maybe I can get out… maybe I can peel this off,” I grunted, my voice strained as I yanked at the hair, the follicles ripping free with a stinging pain that only heightened my arousal. But the skin didn’t budge, the mogui’s magic holding it fast, and the realization that I was trapped in this thick daddy’s identity for good drove me over the edge.
“I’m stuck… I’m wearing this hairy flesh… I’m him,” I growled, my voice rising as I exploded, cum shooting everywhere, thick ropes splattering across my hairy chest, some getting tangled in my beard, the musky scent of Joseph’s essence filling the air.
I lay there, spent and panting, my hairy, sweaty body glistening in the dim light of the villa. The future was uncertain, the mogui still out there, wearing a new skin, its whereabouts unknown. But as I ran my hands over my new body, feeling the coarse hair, the soft bulk of my belly, I realized something had shifted inside me. I didn’t feel self-conscious anymore. With a body this hairy and chunky, I didn’t care what others thought, as long as I enjoyed it myself.
“Maybe this isn’t a curse,” I murmured, my deep voice soft as I traced the hair on my chest, the sensation grounding me in my new reality. “Maybe this is a blessing in disguise...”
I closed my eyes, the weight of Joseph’s body a comforting presence, and drifted into a dreamless sleep, my new identity a strange, perverse gift I was only beginning to understand.
I bet you wish you are here in the same room with me breathing all these manly musk straight from its potent source. Tough luck you are a homo, yall can only see and admire these from your screen as you handed me over all your money that will surely be wasted inappropriately if a fag like you is in charge of it.
Damn bro, I finally stole this body.
I leaned against the cool metal of the blue SUV, heart still hammering from the race—this perfect, stolen body’s lungs burning in the best way. The black 2XU trisuit clung to me like a second skin, soaked through with sweat, the fabric so thin and slick it might as well have been painted on. The zipper was yanked down to my sternum, letting the cool air hit the deep valley between my new pecs, sweat dripping down the cut lines of my chest and abs, pooling just above the waistband. Every breath made the suit pull tighter across my shoulders and biceps, the material stretching over pumped muscle that still twitched from the finish line.
I looked down at the race bib pinned to my chest—515, MACKENZIE—and smirked. That was his name, not mine, but fuck, it felt right now. The name taped across this jacked triathlete body I’d been jerking off to for months. My cock—his cock—thickened instantly against the tight compression shorts built into the suit, the damp fabric outlining every ridge and vein, pressing the head up against my lower abs so obviously I could see the bulge twitch when I flexed my quads.
I dragged the black “FINISH” towel slowly across my chest, feeling the soft terry cloth scrape over sensitive nipples, then lower, teasing the slick skin just above the suit’s waistband. My free hand slid down, cupping the heavy swell of my package through the soaked material, squeezing just enough to feel the heat pulsing underneath. “Fuck, Mackenzie,” I muttered to myself, voice low and rough in this deeper throat, “you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to feel this body from the inside.”
I was already rock-hard, the trisuit doing nothing to hide it, and I couldn’t wait to get somewhere private to really explore what I’d taken. I tossed the towel into the back of the SUV and slid into the driver’s seat, the trisuit riding up even tighter as I sat, the damp fabric grinding against my swollen cock and making me hiss through my teeth. Fuck, every little movement in this body was pure sex—the way the seat leather stuck to my sweat-slick thighs, the way my heavy pecs shifted when I gripped the wheel. I started the engine and pulled out of the lot, one hand already drifting down to palm myself through the suit as I drove, slow and deliberate.
It all started six months ago, at the city marathon. I’d gone just to watch, bored and scrolling through my phone, when I spotted him—Mackenzie—cutting through the pack like he owned the course. He was wearing a skimpy singlet and those tiny split shorts, the kind that barely covered his ass, soaked dark with sweat and clinging to every ridge of muscle. His legs were endless, quads pumping, calves flexing hard with every stride, sweat pouring down his carved torso and making the fabric translucent so I could see his nipples stiff against it. The way his abs contracted, the bulge in those shorts bouncing with each step—thick, obvious, swinging heavy—I couldn’t look away. I stood there at the sidelines, cock throbbing in my jeans, imagining what it’d feel like to have that power, that raw athletic perfection, to feel sweat dripping down my own jacked chest, to have that fat dick straining against tight gear.
From that day on, I was obsessed. I stalked his socials, jerked off nightly to his race pics, fantasizing about stealing it all—his body, his strength, his life. And now… now it was mine. I squeezed harder through the trisuit, groaning as pre-cum leaked and darkened the fabric even more. “All mine now, bro,” I muttered, grinning at my reflection in the rearview—his reflection. “Every sweaty, perfect inch.”I couldn’t keep my hands off this body the whole drive home. The trisuit was still plastered to me, but I’d yanked on a loose black tee from the back seat just to feel something new stretching over these shoulders and chest. The fabric was damp in seconds, clinging to the ridges of my pecs and abs underneath, dark patches spreading where sweat kept pouring.
I pulled over on a quiet side road, engine idling, and twisted toward the rearview mirror. My hair—his hair—was soaked, dark strands plastered to my forehead, dripping down my temples. I raised my right arm and flexed hard, watching the bicep balloon into a thick, peaked mound, veins snaking over the surface like cables. The black sleeve rode up instantly, stretched tight around the swell, barely containing the pump. Fuck, the definition was obscene—every fiber popping, the skin shiny with sweat, that tribal tattoo wrapping around the forearm like it was branding this perfect gun as mine now.
I groaned low, lips parted just like in the mirror, and brought my left hand up to grip the flexed bicep, fingers digging into the hot, hard muscle. It didn’t give—an iron peak that made my cock throb painfully against the trisuit underneath my shorts. Pre-cum was already soaking through layers, the head outlined and pulsing every time I squeezed harder. “Look at this fucking arm, Mackenzie,” I rasped to my reflection, voice thick with lust. “All that marathon training, all those miles… and now it flexes for me.”
I pumped the flex a few times—slow, deliberate—watching the bicep jump and swell even bigger, the sleeve straining like it might rip. My free hand slid down to adjust the bulge straining my shorts, stroking once, twice, through the fabric. I wasn’t going to make it home without blowing in this body for the first time. Not a chance. I barely made it through the front door of Mackenzie’s apartment—my apartment now—before I was tearing at the clothes. The black tee came off first, peeled away from my sweat-drenched torso with a wet slap as it hit the floor. Then the trisuit, zipper yanked all the way down, the soaked fabric fighting me as I shoved it off my shoulders, down my cum-slick abs, and kicked it free from my ankles. My cock sprang up hard and throbbing, a thick arc of pre-cum already stringing from the tip to my thigh.
I stood there in just the black Calvin Klein briefs I’d found folded in his drawer—tight, low-rise, the waistband sitting right on my V-line, cupping my heavy balls and shaft like they were made for this body. The fabric was already darkening at the pouch, stretched obscene over the ridge of my cockhead, every vein visible through the thin cotton. I was glistening head to toe, sweat still pouring from the race, skin shiny and pumped under the dim purple glow of the infrared sauna room I’d stumbled into.
“Fuuuck,” I groaned, voice echoing off the cedar walls as the heat hit me. I stepped inside, door clicking shut, the purple light casting shadows that carved my pecs and abs even deeper. My chest heaved, nipples stiff and sensitive, sweat beading and rolling down the deep split between my pecs, over the ridges of my eight-pack, pooling just above the CK waistband before soaking in. The horseshoe tattoo on my left arm flexed as I brought both hands up, dragging them slow over my slick chest, thumbs circling my nipples hard, then down—tracing every cut ab, fingers dipping into the grooves.
I turned sideways to the mirrored wall, watching this stolen body move—shoulders rolling, lats flaring, the briefs riding lower as my cock pulsed and leaked, the wet spot spreading wider. I hooked a thumb under the waistband, teasing it down just enough to let the thick base of my shaft peek out, veins throbbing, but I didn’t free it yet. Not yet. I wanted to savor how this perfect jacked triathlete body felt when it was this pumped, this sweaty, this fucking horny—trapped in tight designer briefs that couldn’t hide a thing.
I pressed a palm flat against my lower abs, sliding lower, cupping the bulge, squeezing until my knees almost buckled. “All mine to use now, Mackenzie,” I rasped, lips parted, eyes locked on my reflection. “Every drop of sweat, every hard inch.” I was so close already, just from touching what I’d stolen. The heat in the sauna had me edged so close I was shaking, but I forced myself to stop—thumb hooked under the soaked Calvin Klein waistband, cock throbbing against my palm, pre-cum stringing thick between my fingers. I couldn’t blow yet. Not when there was more of this body to worship, more places to take it.
I yanked the briefs back up, the wet cotton snapping against my shaft, and grabbed my phone. A text from Kalani—Mackenzie’s gym bro—was already waiting: “Yo bro, late night pump? Gym’s dead, come flex.” Fuck yes. I needed to see this stolen body next to real size, feel the comparison burn through me.
Twenty minutes later I walked into the empty gym, skin still flushed and glistening from the sauna, wearing nothing but those navy shorts I’d found in his gym bag—thin, loose, riding low on my hips, the drawstring dangling against my abs. No shirt. I wanted every inch on display.
Kalani was already there, massive in his black stringer tank, veins popping down his arms, deep bronze tan making his delts and chest look carved from something harder than muscle. He grinned when he saw me, dapping me up, his huge hand swallowing mine. “Looking lean as fuck, bro. Race shredded you even more.”
We stepped in front of the mirror wall, shoulder to shoulder. He was bigger—thicker traps, wider lats, pecs that pushed his tank out like slabs—but I was cut to shreds, every striation in my abs popping under the overhead lights, skin still shiny, V-line disappearing into the low waistband of my shorts. The contrast made my cock twitch hard; I could feel it thickening down my thigh, the loose fabric doing nothing to hide the growing outline.
He threw an arm around my bare shoulders, heavy and warm, and snapped the pic. “Just a little more tan than me, that’s all bro,” he laughed, flexing his free arm, bicep exploding next to my head. But I could feel his eyes drag down my torso, lingering on the sweat trail running from my chest to the waistband, on the way my shorts tented slightly as blood rushed south.
I smirked into the mirror, flexing my own core subtly, abs crunching deep, making the shorts slip another fraction lower. “Yeah, just the tan,” I muttered, voice low, but inside I was burning—feeling his bigger body pressed to mine, the heat, the size difference, knowing this perfect lean machine was mine to flex, mine to get hard in, mine to compare and worship next to an even bigger alpha. My cock was fully hard now, straining down the leg of the shorts, head pushing against the fabric, a dark wet spot already forming.
Kalani’s hand lingered on my shoulder a second longer than it needed to, thumb brushing the ridge of my trap. “Wanna hit chest?” he asked, eyes flicking down again.
Fuck yes. I wanted to feel these pumped pecs bounce under a heavy bench, feel his spotter hands on my bare skin, feel this stolen body pushed to its limit right next to his.
I left the gym with Kalani’s heavy hand still burning on my bare back, his spotter grip lingering way too long on my pumped pecs during those last bench reps. The pump was insane—chest swollen, veins mapping every inch, my navy shorts soaked through with sweat and pre-cum, the outline of my thick cock snaking down my thigh so obvious he definitely noticed. We dapped up slow, his eyes dragging down my shredded torso one last time before I bounced, promising “next time, bro.”
Next morning, the sun was already brutal. I’d crashed hard in Mackenzie’s bed, waking up rock-hard and leaking, the sheets twisted around my waist. I threw on the same navy shorts—no briefs underneath this time, just the thin fabric hugging my bare cock and balls—and hit the rooftop deck for a quick dip in his private plunge pool to cool off.
The water was ice-cold against my hot skin, shocking my nipples stiff and making my abs clench tight. I hauled out dripping, every drop tracing the cuts of my chest and obliques, running down into the low waistband. The shorts clung instantly, darkened and plastered to my thighs, the head of my cock pushing visibly against the wet nylon, a thick ridge that twitched every time I moved.
I grabbed the sunglasses from the side table, slid them on, and couldn’t resist—threw one leg up high, foot planted on the railing, opening my hips wide to feel the stretch in my quads and groin. Fuck, this body was flexible—hamstrings long and lean, the high kick pulling the soaked shorts even tighter across my ass and bulge, fabric riding up so half my balls peeked out the leg hole. Water streamed down my raised thigh, over the horseshoe tattoo, dripping off my calf.
I stuck my tongue out at my phone camera, snapping the pic, but really I was just reveling in it—feeling the sun bake my wet skin, the breeze teasing my stiff nipples, my free hand sliding down to grip the back of my thigh, fingers digging into hard muscle while my cock throbbed hard against the clinging shorts, pre-cum mixing with pool water into a slick mess.
“Goddamn, Mackenzie,” I groaned, voice husky, dropping the leg only to flex both quads hard, watching them pop and separate under the shiny wet skin. The city skyline blurred behind me—I didn’t care. All I cared about was how this stolen athlete body felt when it was drenched, stretched, and aching to be touched deeper. I was gonna blow right here on the deck if I didn’t stop teasing myself soon.
I stumbled inside from the deck, skin still dripping pool water, cock throbbing so hard it hurt with every step. The navy shorts were plastered to me, but I kicked them off in the hallway, rooting through Mackenzie’s drawer until I found these loose olive-green sweats—soft, baggy, the drawstring loose enough that they hung dangerously low on my hips, the waistband barely clinging to the deep V of my abs. No briefs. Nothing between my bare dick and the fleece lining.
I grabbed a cold orange Gatorade from the fridge, the bottle sweating in my grip as I leaned against the cool marble counter. The kitchen light hit my bare torso perfectly—chest still pumped from yesterday’s gym session, nipples hard from the AC, every ridge of my abs casting shadows down to where the sweats barely covered the base of my shaft. I twisted the cap off slow, watching the scorpion tattoo flex on my forearm, the cowboy boot and hat ink curling around my bicep as I brought the bottle to my lips and chugged. Citrus flooded my mouth, some spilling down my chin, streaking over my pecs, dripping off a nipple and tracing the center line of my abs straight into the waistband.
“Fuck it,” I growled, voice rough in this throat. I’d been edging for days in this body—teasing, flexing, comparing—but I was done waiting.
I shoved the sweats down just enough to free my cock, the heavy length slapping up against my abs with a wet smack, pre-cum stringing thick from the head to my skin. Nine thick inches, veiny and flushed, balls heavy and drawn up tight. I wrapped my tattooed hand around the shaft—fingers barely meeting—and started slow, long strokes, thumb swirling over the slick head on every upstroke. My free hand roamed my chest, pinching a nipple hard, then dragging down the sweat-slick abs, feeling every hard ridge jump under my fingers.
I turned sideways to the dark glass of the oven door, watching my reflection stroke this stolen cock—shoulders wide, lats flaring, the green sweats pooled low around my thighs, framing my pumped quads and the obscene bounce of my dick in my fist. Faster now, grip tightening, hips thrusting into my hand like I was fucking it. “This body’s mine,” I panted, eyes locked on the mirror image of Mackenzie’s perfect face twisted in raw lust. “This cock… these abs… this cum… all fucking mine.”
My balls tightened, spine arching as I flexed everything—chest popping, abs crunching into bricks, forearm veins bulging around my shaft. I aimed low, stroking hard and fast, the wet slap echoing in the quiet kitchen. The orgasm hit like a freight train—thick ropes shooting across my abs, splattering up my chest, one shot hitting my chin. I milked it slow, groaning deep, every pulse coating this perfect torso in hot cum, marking it inside and out.
I slumped against the counter, breathing hard, cum cooling on my skin, cock still twitching in my hand. I dragged a finger through the mess on my abs, brought it to my lips, tasting myself—tasting him. “Forever now, bro,” I whispered to the empty kitchen, smirking at my wrecked, glistening reflection. “This body’s never going back.”
For my dear friend @swapsrus
I never thought I'd get this lucky. You see, I've always been a freak, lurking in the shadows of my own twisted desires, obsessing over bodies like his—tall, muscular, sculpted like a god from hours in the gym. And those fetishes? Oh, they've haunted me for years: the tight squeeze of spandex compression gear hugging every curve and bulge, making skin feel alive under that second-skin pressure. And feet—big, strong, veiny feet, the kind that could crush dreams or beg to be worshipped. But now? Now I'm in control. I possessed him, swapped right into this prime specimen while he was mid-workout, snapping that selfie on his phone. His name was Jake, some cocky fitness influencer with a body built for sin. But he's trapped now, a prisoner in his own mind, feeling every single thing I do to his—our—body. He can't move, can't speak, can't escape. He can only sense it all, helpless as I turn his temple into my playground. And fuck, does it feel good to be evil.
I flex my new legs—his legs—spreading them wide on that stability ball, just like in the mirror selfie I caught him taking. The black Nike compression tights cling to me like a lover's grip, squeezing my thighs, my calves, my ass so tight it's like they're vacuum-sealed. I can feel the fabric compressing every muscle fiber, the way it molds to the massive bulge between my legs, outlining my—his—thick cock and heavy balls in obscene detail. It's semi-hard already, throbbing against the spandex, the pressure building like a dam about to burst. Jake's screaming in there, I know it. He can feel the heat rising, the way I'm grinding his hips down onto the ball, letting the rubber press up against his taint through the thin layer. "Feel that, Jake?" I whisper to myself, my voice—his deep, rumbling baritone—echoing in the empty gym. "Your body's mine now. And I'm gonna make you cum in these tights until they're soaked."
I kick off the sneakers he had nearby, baring those big, perfect feet. Size 13, veiny arches curving like works of art, toes long and strong, soles rough from all those squats and runs. I plant them flat on the cool gym floor, spreading my toes wide, feeling the air kiss the sensitive skin. Jake's trapped consciousness squirms—I can sense his horror, his futile resistance as I curl those toes, imagining them wrapped around something filthy. I lift one foot, pressing it against the stability ball, rubbing the sole over the smooth surface, the friction sending shivers up my spine. His spine. "Oh yeah, big boy," I growl, my hand—his hand—sliding down to grip the bulge through the spandex. The compression fights back, squeezing my fingers around the hardening shaft, making it pulse harder. I stroke slowly, teasing, feeling the precum leak and spread, darkening the fabric. Jake feels it all—the humiliation, the unwanted arousal building because it's his nerves firing, his blood pumping. He's begging silently, but I just laugh, low and wicked.
I stand up, the tights pulling taut over my quads, compressing them into rock-hard pillars. I saunter to the mirror, phone in hand, snapping more selfies just to torment him. Look at us, Jake—your blond hair tousled, beard trimmed, those hazel eyes now gleaming with my malice. I flex my biceps under the long-sleeve compression top, the Nike logo stretching across my chest. The fabric hugs my pecs, nipples hardening into points that poke through, begging to be pinched. I do it, twisting hard, and Jake's pain-pleasure spikes through me like electricity. "You like that, don't you? Trapped little bitch, feeling your own body betray you." I drop down, assuming a squat position, feet planted wide, toes gripping the mat. The spandex strains over my ass, compressing the cheeks so tight I can feel every seam digging in. I bounce a little, imagining fucking something—someone—with this power, those big feet slamming down with each thrust.
But I'm not done. I sit back on the ball, legs splayed, and peel one leg of the tights up just enough to free a foot. I bring it to my face—his face—inhaling the musky scent of sweat and skin, then lick the sole from heel to toe, tongue tracing the veins. Salty, warm, divine. Jake's revulsion floods me, but so does the arousal—his body responding despite him, cock twitching wildly in the compression prison. I shove the toes into my mouth, sucking them like candy, biting the pads just hard enough to sting. "Mmm, your feet are fucking huge, Jake. Perfect for a freak like me." My free hand dives into the tights, wrapping around the thick shaft, jerking it roughly under the spandex. The fabric stretches with each pump, compressing the head, making it swell purple and desperate. Precum slicks everything, the wet sounds echoing as I edge us closer.
I can feel him breaking inside, his will crumbling as the orgasm builds. "You're gonna cum for me, trapped boy. Feel every spurt, every throb, knowing it's me using you." I speed up, foot still in my mouth, toes curling against my tongue. The compression tights amplify everything—the squeeze on my balls, the hug on my thighs, the way my big feet flex and arch in ecstasy. It hits like a freight train: ropes of cum erupting inside the spandex, soaking through, warm and sticky against the fabric. Jake feels it all—the release, the shame, the aftershocks rippling through his trapped soul. I collapse back, laughing breathlessly, one hand smearing the mess over the bulge, the other massaging those glorious feet.
And this is just the beginning. I'll wear these cum-soaked tights all day, parade your body around, tease more with those feet. You're mine forever, Jake. Feel it. Hate it. Crave it. I'm the evil freak in charge now.
The Great Shift: World Cup
The world can come together for a great many things. However, it is the season in which the world unites for a very specific sport. While it goes by many names, the World Cup has sparked excitement among fans, passion among athletes, and after the Great Shift a means to expect the unexpected.
After 90% of the world swapped bodies, many found themselves in new countries as well as new bodies. Some managed to not only adapt to their new settings, but completely embraced it. Taking on a new body, but embracing the culture, the people, and the sport that body had mastered… well. That’s how legends are born.
The Great Shift News Crew wanted to hear from the very athletes that are making up this year’s World Cup.
======
Guadalajara, Mexico
Hola! Lo siento. ¿Hablas inglés? Haha sorry. Sometimes I can’t help speaking and thinking in Spanish these days. You wanted to talk about how I got started in soccer right?
It’s kinda a funny story. Guess I’ll start at the beginning. My name is Weilin Wu, from Portland Oregon! I was in college working on my degree in international studies with a minor in linguistics last year. But… that interest had to be put on hold when the Great Shift happened.
I was probably the furthest from a prime athlete in college that you could imagine. In fact, up until recently my idea of a marathon would have been binging a few seasons of the anime My Hero Academia or Delicious in Dungeon. Being 5’0 with a pension for chocolates and milk tea didn’t exactly give me the best physique. And I didn’t have that much confidence when I couldn’t grow any facial hair to safe my life. Let’s just say I didn’t have a lot of confidence in my physical appearance my freshman year.
Well. I can honestly say after the Great Shift happened everything changed. I went from typing notes in my dorm room to running through a grass soccer field barefoot!
The first thing I did? Immediately fall over…
I mean can you blame me? I was sitting at my desk and suddenly I was running 20 miles per hour shirtless and barefoot in a foreign country.
I immediately tumbled to the ground and got acquainted with how this new body of mine can take a fall. When the world finally stopped spinning I realized just how much everything changed. I mean… look at me.
Going from a short Asian American to a Mexico pro athlete was like a dream come true!
I’d gone from five foot nothing to 6’4 in the span of mere moments. When I tried to stand for the first time I nearly fell over again. People don’t tell you that you can get vertigo from a sudden growth spurt. And the height was just part of it. My snacking habit made it more difficult for me to see past my sizable stomach, so when I stood up straight for the first time and looked down to see a 6 pack, I nearly fainted. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. And it wasn’t just any 6 pack, I had a thick treasure trail where previously I had no hair at all. That sexy strip led straight to my new vicious V and… well I don’t think I can say the next part for the audiences at home.
What I can say though is how big my feet became. Being over 6 feet tall I expected to have pretty sizable feet, but size 16s kinda blew my mind. That’s literally twice the size of my former feet!
When I finally managed to catch my breath and take in my new body the rest became history. News broadcasts about the Great Shift, people panicking, and others… choosing to help those displaced.
The teammates around me immediately asked if I was ok and helped me get acquainted with who I became when I told them what happened. It helped that I was already semi fluent in Spanish, otherwise I’d be completely lost. To this day, the team still likes to tease me when I say something with a gringo accent though.
Long story short I found I was in the body of César Huerta, the 6’4 Winger for the team that would be playing in the World Cup for Mexico. César landed in my body and was equally confused.
With some help from the team and some patience we eventually reunited. César understood he probably wouldn’t be playing soccer anytime soon, so instead he asked if I was interested in taking his place on the team.
It wasn’t unheard of. Countless people began to start a career in pro sports after the shift. I’m pretty sure Nick and Joey Bosa’s bodies were now occupied by a brother and sister from Thailand.
I wasn’t sure. I had never played a game of soccer in my life. However, with some encouragement and coaching from César I found I was a natural. His body had all this muscle memory waiting for me to use! After a few practices I was playing just as good as he was, if not better.
From that day on I became a part of the team. My new teammates have been super welcoming and let me stay with them until I found a place of my own.
I’ve been living in Mexico ever since. The language already felt natural to me after a few months. I’m not sure if it was me adapting to this culture… or perhaps this body just feels more comfortable speaking that language.
My parents visit on the holidays. It helps that my older parents swapped into two handsome European backpackers who love to travel. My mom likes to compare who has more abs these days and my dad always makes sure we finish a full bottle of whatever he brought on his last trip.
As for me, getting used to the mundanities of César’s bodies has been the best part. From the very beginning he warned me to make sure I keep up his shaving routine. That wasn’t something I was used to considering I’d never had to shave. Only now I had a thick beard by 5 o'clock if I wasn’t careful. After that I made sure to listen to all of César’s advice.
He taught me the proper way to care for my curlier hair, he showed me the best exercises for his body, and he even showed me a shoe store that catered to my larger size. That last one was important. Walking around with size 16s is more difficult than it looks. I stubbed my toes several times the first week in César’s body. And my feet got so sweaty all the time I just preferred to walk around barefoot most places.
I’d need all the help I could get as I wasn’t the most… composed during my first actual game in his body.
There was something about seeing a huge crowd of people staring at you… yearning from some relief after all the stress the Great Shift had caused… it was a bit overwhelming. All that expectation to be the source of entertainment for the masses really got to me that day… I missed so many passes for that one game. But it wasn’t the end of the world. I kept at it. I kept practicing.
To my surprise César was practicing right beside me most days. He enjoyed coaching sure, but even in my body he enjoyed playing the most. In this last year he lost over 40lbs in my previous body and is even considering rejoining the team once he feels ready.
I really appreciate how César and the rest of the team have been making sure I improve each game. Without their help I don’t think my transition into this body would’ve worked. And of course without their help I don’t think we would’ve been able to win the first game of the World Cup!
My team and I can’t wait to celebrate. They say my face is all over social media after our last play. It used to feel so… strange thinking that was me. But now… Now when I look in the mirror I don’t see a stranger. I see a handsome, confident Mexican man. I see me. I see the person who is going to bring home the World Cup for Mexico this year!
Can you make one gay story? Maga stud fucking the boyfriend of his liberal fagbrother, just to torture him?
The apartment door clicked shut as Myles headed out to the bodega for snacks, leaving his boyfriend, Dennis, alone with his older brother, Kyle. Dennis had spent the last few months pushing Myles to finally cut all ties with Kyle — the loud, unapologetic, hardline MAGA older brother whose “traditional values” clashed with everything their progressive college circle stood for. Kyle is everything Dennis despised on paper: An entitled, oblivious douchebag who proudly put on Trump's MAGA flags or even apparel, big believer of America First rhetoric, and zero tolerance for “woke bullshit.” Yet, much to his surprise, Kyle looked less like the loser he thought he would be being 29 and working from home and for whatever reason, that guy now sauntered over to where Dennis stayed, which is Myles bedroom, as if looking for trouble. Dennis heart instantly raced as the massive blond jock blocked the door like a tattooed wall of muscle.
Kyle stands there shirtless, curly blond hair framing his cocky smirk, gold cross gleaming between thick pecs covered in light sweat. His powerful arms — one sleeved in stars and an eagle, the other with a massive ram skull — flexed as he crossed them. Gray athletic shorts clung to his tree-trunk thighs and the heavy, obvious bulge of his thick MAGA cock.
“You’ve been poisoning my little brother’s mind with that liberal fag shit, telling him to disown his own blood because I won’t bend the knee to your rainbow cult. Time you learn what a real American man’s cock tastes like.”
Dennis found himself stammered and tried to push past and start calling for help, but Kyle grabbed him by the throat and shoved him back into the bed area, kicking the door mostly shut. Dennis struggled, but the bigger man easily pinned him against the wall.
“Get the fuck off me, you homophobic prick!”
Kyle laughed, deep and mocking. “Homophobic? Nah, boy. I just know my cock only enters real pussy. Tight, wet, feminine cunt that knows its place. Not some liberal fag’s sloppy boyhole. That’s for beta cucks like you to dream about while you choke on superior straight dick.”
He forced Dennis to his knees. With one hand gripping Dennis thin brunette hair, Kyle yanked down his shorts and pulled out his massive uncut 9-inch cock — thick, veiny, and already leaking. It slapped heavily across Dennis’s face, musky and dominant.
“Open that liberal mouth. Show me how much you secretly crave MAGA cock while you pretend to hate everything I stand for.”
Dennis kept his lips pressed into a tight, stubborn line, glaring up at Kyle in defiant resistance. “Fuck you. I’m not sucking your MAGA dick.”
Kyle’s eyes darkened with amusement. He grabbed Dennis by the jaw, squeezing hard enough to make his teeth ache. When that didn’t work, he makes Dennis to stand on his feet and drive a heavy fist into Dennis’s stomach. Dennis doubled over with a wheeze. Another punch landed, then a third, each one breaking his posture further.
“Still clenching that liberal mouth shut?” Kyle laughed. He forced two thick fingers between Dennis’s lips, prying them apart brutally while gripping a fistful of hair. Dennis tried to bite, but Kyle slammed another punch into his ribs, making him gasp.
The moment his mouth opened, Kyle shoved his fingers deeper, hooking them behind Dennis’s teeth and yanking his jaw wide. He hawked a thick glob of spit straight into the forced-open mouth.
“There it is,” Kyle growled victoriously, slapping his heavy cock against Dennis’s tongue. “All that progressive attitude and a few punches is all it takes to turn you into a willing MAGA cock sleeve.”
He immediately rammed his thick shaft down the gasping throat. The taste — salty, masculine, overpowering — flooded his senses. Kyle groaned in satisfaction and started thrusting, face-fucking him with long, powerful strokes that made his balls slap Dennis’s chin. Overwhelmed and sloppy, Dennis accidentally grazed the sensitive underside with his teeth.
“Fucking watch it, fag,” Kyle snarled.
SLAP
A heavy, open-handed smack landed across Dennis’s flushed cheek, making his eyes water. Before he can recover, Kyle spits directly onto his face, thick saliva dripping down his nose and lips.
“Again,” Kyle warned, shoving his cock back in.
Dennis tried to relax his jaw, but another nervous graze earned him two more sharp slaps — left cheek, then right — followed by another heavy glob of spit right into his open mouth.
“Teeth again and I’ll knock them down your liberal throat,” Kyle growled, gripping his hair tighter. “This isn’t your safe-space college boyfriend dick. This is real MAGA cock.”
Terrified and humiliated, Dennis finally loosened his jaw completely, lips stretching soft and obedient around the massive shaft. No more teeth. Only eager, fearful suction as Kyle resumed brutally fucking his throat, spitting on him between thrusts like the conquered little bitch he's now
“Fuck yeah. That’s it. All that college talk about tolerance and ‘love is love,’ and here you are gagging on the same hardline MAGA dick you tell Myles to reject. The irony’s fucking delicious.”
Dennis’s eyes watered, but his resistance crumbled fast. His own cock strained painfully in his jeans as Kyle used his throat like a fleshlight, the wet gagging sounds filling the room. Kyle pulled out briefly, strings of spit dripping, and lifted one thick arm, shoving Dennis’s face straight into his sweaty, musky pit.
“Smell a real man, fag. This is what winning smells like. Trump country sweat. Breathe it in while you worship the cock that only breeds real pussy.”
Dennis moaned like a whore, tongue lapping eagerly at the salty skin, inhaling the potent masculine scent. He switched pits when ordered, licking and sucking desperately while Kyle stroked his massive cock over his face.
“Pathetic,” Kyle chuckled. “You spend all day preaching about how toxic I am, how I need to ‘evolve,’ and the second you get a taste of conservative dick you’re addicted. Bet you jerk off thinking about this while Myles eats your ass like a good little liberal boyfriend.”
He shoved his cock back down Dennis’s throat, fucking his face harder, hips snapping forward. Dennis’s hands gripped Kyle’s muscular thighs, not pushing away anymore — pulling him deeper. Precum and spit coated his chin. His own cock leaked steadily, completely betrayed by the raw dominance of his boyfriend’s “homophobic” older brother.
“This is the ultimate liberal irony, isn’t it? You hate MAGA, hate Trump, hate everything I believe… but your fag throat still desperately milks my straight cock as if you're trying to compete against the babes pussies. Keep sucking, boy. Show me how much you need real American manhood while you try to cancel it.”
Dennis is completely lost — eyes glassy, moaning around the thick shaft, throat bulging with every deep thrust. Kyle face-fucked him relentlessly, one hand tangled in his hair, the other occasionally slapping his cheek lightly.
---
Myles had forgotten his wallet. He quietly re-entered the apartment and froze when he heard the obscene wet sounds and deep grunts coming from the bedroom. The door was slightly ajar. Heart hammering, he crept closer and peered through the crack.
The sight hit him like lightning.
His boyfriend Dennis was on his knees, face flushed and sloppy with spit, eagerly deepthroating Kyle’s massive cock. Kyle’s powerful, tattooed body glistened with sweat as he thrust into Dennis’s mouth, gray shorts around his thighs, muscles flexing with every move. Dennis’s hand was inside his own pants, frantically jerking himself off while worshipping the older brother’s dick.
Myles couldn’t look away. Shame, jealousy, and unwanted arousal flooded him as he watched his liberal, progressive boyfriend get completely owned by the hardline MAGA brother he’d been trying to make him cut off. For ten full minutes Myles stood there, hand slipping into his shorts, stroking himself in silence while Kyle degraded Dennis with every thrust and taunt.
“Fuck, you liberal boys break so easy,” Kyle growled, never slowing down. “All that talk about cutting me off, and you’re slobbering on my cock like it’s your new religion. Maybe I should make Myles watch what a real man does to his fag boyfriend.”
Then, back to the current moment, Kyle’s sharp blue eyes flicked straight toward the door crack. A thunderous, cocky chuckle rumbled from his chest as he kept face-fucking Dennis without missing a beat.
“You’ve been enjoying watching me, don’t you, younger bro?”
Myles instantly freeze, hand still wrapped around his throbbing cock, face burning with humiliation. Kyle grinned wide, arrogant and victorious, his curly blond hair tousled, muscles pumped, MAGA energy radiating off him as he held Dennis’s head down on his shaft.
“Come in here, Myles. Door’s open. It's time for you to learn how real power is wielded — and how much your liberal boyfriend loves choking on it.”
“You really think I can’t pull of being you?” I looked at the young man I use to be, I applied a cuff link and laughed in that professional loud laugh I had heard Mr. Reyes do so many times before.
He really is going to sit here and protest I can’t be him, that i don’t know anything about him, yet when i manifested this months ago I made sure to know everything he knew. When I was manifesting myself as Mr. Reyes I throughly visioned this moment, waking up in his bed, my consciousness and desires encased in his scruffy body for me to touch and rub. I made sure to be thankful for the day when I would wake up in Mr. Reyes’ perfect body, I’d go to his mirror and use his products to care for his sexy beard, I’d use his nice gel to style his thick perfect hair and all in front of the mirror. Today happened to be that day, and I couldn’t be anymore happier than for this experience of a lifetime. I went to his closet and picked out his favorite suit also the one I loved seeing him wear. I picked the maroon colored shirt it hugs this body in all the right place as i buttoned it up and it’s nice fabrics caressed this bulky and hairy body. I grabbed one of his watches from his nice little collection of name brand watches. I grabbed some nice dress socks and slid them up these thick size 12 feet and they hugged my massive hairy calves and i applied my garters, i use to be a size 8 in shoes so I’m going to enjoy wearing his shined loafers I wiggled these beefy toes in the nice silk dress socks and grinned. I grabbed his boxer briefs and pulled them to my noes and deeply inhaled.
I had imagined this scenario so many times and now I’m finally living it, and there was Mr. Reyes in my cute little body, appalled, unable to do anything other than to watch his body behave in a way he’d never seen but there was a slight submission in his face that was trying to hold back the sexual urges he was feeling in my youthful body. I continued to talk to him, gloating how good this body feels and continuously being grateful for receiving this body. I continued to get dressed, I grabbed a tie, grabbed a cologne and gave a few spritz on the neck and the wrists and smelled them knowing i smell just as good as Mr. Reyes.
Before I put on the dress pants and suit coat, I walked over to my cute body, he gulped, he was sweating, all that confidence gone and reduced to a cute little college boy, i stood in front of him, just watching, not saying anything then i lightly grabbed that limp wrist i use to use and put his hand on my chest, i told him to play with my nipples, and my new body reacted to that really well, i felt electricity from the nipple to the big feet keeping me grounded, i felt my new thick cock getting hard and i pushed his face into my bulge and he gave into this body swap sexual experience going on, he inhaled and kept inhaling all while caressing my big chest and perfect nipples and i was definitely enjoying this.
I’m really in Mr. Reyes’ home on a Monday morning getting ready for work, wearing his body along with his clothes and my former body is sexually pleasuring me and I’m moaning in my new deep voice without even thinking i have him fish my cock out and put his warm mouth around it and begin to suck on my new thick veiny uncut cock, I quickly make him gag on my new cock, every sensation is on fire, and i feel like I’m woven into every fiber of Mr. Reyes’ body, spirit and mind, everything that i use to know about “me” feels less “me” and everything that is “Mr. Reyes” feels more familiar to me as this young fucking college boy continues to suck the fuck out of my cock and I’m moaning deep voices and that cute college kid is moaning and gagging with such a light voice, i can’t believe that use to be me god i sounded so high pitched but not anymore “keep sucking boy” god it feels so fucking good to say that, the words so deep, so heavy and they came from my throat I’m getting so close to climax and this body just feels so real to me now, it feels like home, I’ve finally got this body and i blow my load so deep into the throat of a man I use to be, life is good.
A Body To Marvel
Am I really doing this?
When Rohan Desai had first heard of The Avengers, his life had been changed forever. Of course, he had grown up hearing about all kinds of superheroes, the one he was awaiting for today’s special event was in World War Two. But it was still so odd to suddenly see them blossom in his life. He was in college when New York was first attacked and though he was far from the centre of the invasion, when you grow up in New York, you’d likely run into someone who knew someone who had been saved by one of the titular heroes.
Even still, the Avengers were no longer just an idea, they had become something akin to a brand. It was why Rohan was here, he had turned from college student watching New York get saved by superheroes into one of the lead developers of one of the first superhero videogames. It technically wasn’t the first, but it was one of since The Avengers had been established and it was focused on the titular character of Captain America. From what he understood at first, nobody wanted this game. Not him, not the company and certainly not Captain America.
But overtime, there were some…business dealings and briefings, investments from the one and only Stark Industries and nearly four years later they had something. It wasn’t great, hell Rohan was just glad it was good and they had complete creative control, meaning the game actually could have some sort of genuine story or meaning behind it. At least as much as he could try in between missions of Captain America beating up HYDRA agents in a hyperrealistic sandbox of New York.
Are we really doing this? That was the question Rohan first asked when they got approval to begin development and entered pre-production. Are we really doing this? He asked again when they had finished making the model of Captain America, the motion capture and voice work done by a man who had played him in the infamous Avengers musical.
Are we really doing this? It was the same question that he asked that morning.
The common ambience of the office with conversation and keyboard clacking had turned into something larger. It had become a storm of busyness and a business hard at work. Conversations were now the cacophonous rain of commands to staff and camera crew. Thunder was the heavy thud of sound and camera equipment as it was picked, pulled and moved around the office like new ornaments. Lightning were the glimpses Rohan got of their special guest.
Captain America.
In the flesh.
Instead of his other common appearances doing charity work or on missions, he was practically forced to do what a lot of celebrities had to do, sell out. Rumour had it the only way they convinced him to come to the office to shoot the interview was if he could make some pledge to charity. So that was how after months of scheduling, they finally had the one and only Captain America ready to come into a small office with Rohan Desai and have the two alone in a room for an interview as they played the game.
I guess we’re really doing this.
Rohan wondered why he was chosen besides being one of the leads. Perhaps it was because he was the opposite of Captain America in every way. The hero was tall, blonde and broad shouldered with enough strength to take out anyone in his way and an aura of confidence that could lead men into battle. Rohan was lanky, skinny, nerdy with bronze skin and curled black hair who was only good at leading people when it came to the office. And even then, he questioned if he was that good at it.
Apparently there was a reason the pair were put together, according to the director of the whole ordeal, they both just seemed ‘nice’. Nice, wholesome, a carefully curated picturesque pairing of two men with morals so the interview didn’t look so much like the promo that it actually was. Maybe that hunger for authenticity was why they were being left alone in a room together to ‘chat’ rather than have an army of a camera crew managing their every word, trying to get the perfect shot.
“You ready for this?” came the familiar voice of another project lead. Rohan would have felt guilty for taking the man’s spot but despite him being more attractive and in line with a man who’d look good around Captain America.
“Yeah,” Rohan lied, playing the role of someone having at least something resembling confidence. “It’s not that big of a deal.” Too much confidence, his mind warned suddenly like a computer error. “I mean it is- Don’t get me wrong- No like it totally…totally is, but I mean like- You know…I didn’t realise the whole office would have to move and uh…stuff.”
“Yeah…” The project co-lead replied, echoing only Rohan’s first word like that was all he was listening to. “Well y’know the director says he wants it to feel genuine, not like an actual game studio. So you get the soundproof therapy room and everything, just y’know don’t actually call it the therapy room.” Rohan wanted to ask why and then realised he really didn’t want to get bogged down in the details.
“Okay…so the interview and then-”
“Chat”, corrected the co-lead. “Then snap some photos and then Cap will probably stick around taking more selfies or autographs or whatever with folks. Look…I know you’re nervous.”
“That’s…Yeah pretty accurate,” said Rohan.
“But look at it like this, you get to spend an hour with Captain freaking America. Playing the game that we busted our asses off and we know is good…”
“True…”
“And it’s pre-recorded. Anything weird happens or there’s some mistake, they can just edit it our, redo it, whatever.”
“Right…”
“So…my point is…” The co-lead smiled. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
It had been something of an odd process, a social ritual playing out as people seemed to drag themselves away from Captain America’s alluring presence. Though they had trouble with their half glances and a couple snapshots on the phone, Rohan had to do the opposite. He felt as if he had to orbit the man, not knowing exactly when they were going to start filming. The camera crew was still busy and they had turned the ‘quiet room’ (a soundproof room nobody used that corporate decided to have if only to list as one of the company benefits) into a recording studio.
A different couch had been pulled in and positioned against the far wall. A couple of plants had been taken from people’s desks to put around and add some greenery. A coffee table had been moved in hastily stacked with some water bottles and granola bars and a collection of different wires were hastily organised and hidden away beneath and behind the couch.
They had somehow turned a glorified storage closet into a makeshift talk show set. Warm neon lights cast a purple haze over it all and a television had also been moved in with all the right equipment to start up the game, a camera positioned in the corner to capture some of the gameplay, though Rohan knew most of it would be recorded from the console itself.
The most surprising ornament of the room was the one that this was all for, Captain America. Unlike everyone else, the super soldier walked in with a casualness, an ease that contrasted with the panic and pressure of the crew around to try and get everything working and perfect and looking good all at the same time.
He had been busying himself chatting with some of the same crew and Rohan doubted it was about features he should mention or anything to do with the video. It looked more like he was just having a casual conversation. When Rohan first saw him up close, it was when he had already been sat down in the room as they did camera tests and soon Captain America had come in.
The door opened without ceremony yet the effect was instant. Conversations clipped themselves short; the shuffling of cables slowed, as if everyone had suddenly remembered they were supposed to move gracefully. Captain America walked in. The hero stood in the doorway for a moment, one hand on the frame as if politely asking for permission before he could come in. The hallway’s cooler light haloed him from behind, a contrast to the warm, overworked neon of the room within. His frame was unmistakable: tall, broad shoulders and a shirt that stretched across his chest that would make any man envious of his pecs. Rohan felt a knot in his stomach, like all his nerves had bundled together and pulled taut suddenly. He swallowed dryly and was suddenly glad there was water nearby before Captain America’s eyes met his and he smiled, showing off some pearly whites as he stepped forward.
“Hi, Steve Rogers,” said Captain America as if he had any need to introduce themselves. He leaned forward slightly holding out his hand and Rohan shook his.
“Rohan Desai, uh it’s an honour to meet you sir,” replied Rohan. He almost immediately regretted calling the man sir as soon as it tumbled out of his lips. Steve blinked and smiled wider. God I wish I was like him, Rohan thought as he felt a slight shiver at that.
“You don’t need to call me sir,” assured Steve as Rohan nodded, ignoring the heat that was invading his cheeks as he swore he could only hear his heart drumming in his chest. “Honestly sometimes I wish I could be more like you guys who are so smart with all this coding and programming kinda thing.” Steve’s grip tightened slightly as he was shaking Rohan’s hand, feeling a slight shiver. “Oh sorry uh….So you’re the one I’m interviewing-” Steve stopped himself and laughed.
“Sorry uh doing the interview with, I get all tongue tied with this sort of stuff.” The man admitted as if the concept that Captain America, a man who was used to leading armies and stopped an invasion only a decade ago wasn’t absurd. Rohan just nodded, still too awestruck to say anything.
“We’ll be doing a bit of gameplay first, just to do a bit of a camera test and then we’ll go from there if that’s all good?” A voice, likely the director, sounded out from behind a camera and Steve nodded.
“Uh yeah that’s…whatever’s best,” stammered Rohan as he could already see some of the crew leaving. It seemed the pitch of a more close and intimate interview setting wasn’t solely for show.
“Excited for it,” said Steve as he sat down finally, adjusting on the couch which sagged underneath his weight. “Have to admit, it’s great that a portion of this marketing budget gets to go to charity but…It is kinda interesting I guess, being able to go to an event and play a game about myself.” The hero’s enthusiasm was like gust in a heatwave. Rohan could feel himself relax, as Captain America’s looming presence was beginning to grow more comforting than intimidating.
“Uh yeah I totally agree, I really appreciate it not just being a typical ad and uh we worked really hard on the game with quantum processing so we…” Rohan started and then smiled. “Sorry, rambling. I’ll save it for the video.” Steve chuckled.
“Sure, sure, so…should we get started?” Captain America glanced around at the remnants of the crew that were ready for the go ahead. They simply nodded and after a silent countdown, started the recording before the last people around quietly filed out. Rohan took a few deep breaths before glancing straight ahead toward one of the cameras.
“So hi everyone, I’m Rohan Desai, the director of Captain America Rising and with me is a very special guest…” Rohan started, glad that his voice wasn’t too shaky. Steve gave a wave and smile.
“And I’m Rohan- Sorry uh I’m Captain America and I’m happy to be with Rohan here playing Captain America Rising,” said Steve with a dazzling smile. The main menu booted up with an orchestral swell of strings and brass as a logo glowed across the screen. “Wow uh it looks pretty serious huh. I…” He blinked. “Well I definitely look a little more square jawed than I am and…is that the old suit?” Rohan chuckled.
“Uh yeah the art department wanted that kind of look and uh did use some generative facial composites,” replied Rohan as the game started to load up a save file for a mission to play. Everything had been set up perfectly. “So uh…you did visit the set I believe where the mo cap was taking place right?” Steve nodded.
“Yeah, yeah…it felt…kinda weird to see someone who looks a lot like me in a sort of tight suit doing my voice and such,” replied Steve as he shifted. They selected a co-op mode, one where one could play as Steve and another as Bucky Barnes. “Huh…weird I can’t play as Cap.” Steve chuckled. “That’s ironic.” Rohan frowned.
“That’s weird uh…well I can choose, but uh we can swap if you’d like?” Rohan suggested, holding up his controller in case the hero wanted to take it.
“Oh no no no that’s fine,” laughed Steve. “Instead I’ll be playing as…well hey I’m happy to choose Bucky for now, I didn’t really know there’d be so many different heroes to choose though for co-op.” It was odd though, Steve thought. He assumed that he would be playing Captain America and that the developer would have been playing the other hero. But perhaps it made all the more sense for Rohan to be the one playing the titular hero. He knew the game best. “So uh I’ll be playing-”
“James Buchanan Barnes, best friend of Captain America and war hero,” started Rohan. Steve looked pleasantly surprised by the sudden answer. Rohan blinked. “Oh uh sorry yeah uh as Bucky Barnes, one of the newer members of the Avengers I believe.” Rohan blinked. He was a huge fan of Captain America but…how did he know the answer so suddenly? He didn’t mean to have taken over and straightened, assuming it must have just been his nerves taking over and wanting the video to go as smoothly as possible.
“That’s right…uh looks like we’ve loaded in.”
“Let’s go,” said Rohan with a sudden enthusiasm, wanting to show off his hard work. The two started off in a pre-selected mission in the open world of New York City where the camera swooped down from the skyline into a bustling digital Manhattan. Steam hissed from subway grates, detailed pedestrians moved with believable randomness and the ambiance of the city started to sound out. Before they knew it, a fight had broken out with some HYDRA agents in a warehouse and the two began to move in, with Rohan as Captain America tossing his shield and performing finishers whilst Steve struggled slightly with his aim as Bucky. “Oh uh so it’s important we work together on this part.” Rohan coughed, his voice sounding a little deeper for a moment there before he cleared his throat.
“Got ya, got ya…the game looks really detailed it’s sort of scary, having grown up around black and white movies and all,” Steve said with a smile as the two of them quickly engaged in a quick time event. The both of them concentrated on the screen as the game prompted them to mash a button to move some debris out the way of a door. As Rohan began to mash, something strange began to happen. At first it was just a pressure, a swell beneath his skin. With each frantic press of the button, his sleeves began to strain.
His biceps slowly began to inflate and thicken, pushing against the fabric until the seams squealed. At the same time, it seemed that Steve was feeling as if his hands were growing weaker and slightly numb. A bronze tone began to take over his hands as dark hairs started to sprout over the back of his hand and trail down his arms where the muscles felt like they were beginning to shrink. It felt like the strength was being sapped away.
Rohan didn’t seem to notice except the sudden wave of pleasure that he began to feel as he tensed his arms. Every shift, every adjustment in his seat, made the arms begin to stretch like they belonged on a larger body as he felt a tinge of euphoria that was just growing as he continued to adjust and feel his now much paler arms.
“You doing okay there?” Rohan asked as he saw that on Steve’s screen he was having trouble doing the prompt as fast as he was. Steve could continue to feel like his arms had somehow grown weaker, slightly more numb and skinnier as dark hairs continued to trail down and cause them to itch. He wanted to look down but he felt like he could hardly break his gaze away from the screen.
By the time the prompt was over and both characters shoved the debris to the side, Rohan was laughing to himself and Steve smiled, albeit with a little more nervousness as he shifted with embarrassment. He just couldn’t get a handle on this kind of technology. At least that’s what he told himself to explain how he couldn’t do something as simple as a prompt to press a button over and over.
“Uh yeah heh I don’t play a ton of games so I’m not sure,” started Steve, coughing and clearing his throat as he shifted in his seat. Played a lot of games? He didn’t have time for that sort of thing. He was usually on playing missions…right? He found his mind growing hazy as he tried to think, suddenly remembering the hours he got to let go and relax, playing some videogames instead of the list of movies, shows and books he had to read since he’d been frozen.
As they continued the mission, both the characters got in a vehicle with Rohan taking the lead in the driver’s seat. As they began a chase sequence, Rohan could feel himself naturally swerve the controller when they turned, straining his tight sleeves until-
RIIIIIIIIIPPPPPPPPPP.
A small but sudden tear sounded out and Steve barely caught a glance of Rohan’s suddenly meaty and paler biceps in his shirt. “So you work out a lot then?”
“Oh no I prefer working out to video games,” blurted out Rohan. He didn’t mean to say that. He knew he didn’t mean to say that. Yet words were power, and as he spoke them, Rohan felt something seize inside him. His grin faltered, replaced by a grimace as he instinctively arched his back. His indie band shirt that once hung loosely on his skinny frame was suddenly one size too small, if for just a moment. The change began deep in his torso, his ribcage expanding as his skin prickled and continued to pale, bubbling as if his skin was the top of some boiling elixir.
He grunted softly, caught between shock and exhilaration, feeling each part of his spine stretch and realign as his body lengthened. He leaned back, suddenly taller on the couch as the hem of his shirt inched upward, betraying a strip of his stomach, no longer soft but tightening into ridges of muscle that flexed and defined themselves in real time.
He tried to tear his gaze away from the screen, tried to see what was happening, but it was impossible to ignore the hypnotic pull of the light around him. Whether it was the glint that caught Captain America’s shield or the neon beams of HYDRA enemies or the detailed lights of the city, Rohan blinked.
“I uh…No I…I uh…”
Rohan struggled, almost moaning as he could barely see his stomach gurgle and froth in the corner of his eyes. Any fat of his stomach melted away, slowly descending to nothingness as it became as visible as air, fading away. All the mass left was converting into muscle, beginning to carve itself and hardening like it was some liquid as Rohan couldn’t help but let a deep groan slip from his lips, mixing it with an exhausted grunt as his body did feel like that both exhausted and heavy.
His shoulder blades writhed under the fabric, expanding outward, stretching his shirt to its limits. Each shift sent another ripple down his torso, where abs carved themselves across his stomach. The paleness continued to crawl all over his changing body as a dusting of brown hair grew to form a treasure trail below his abs.
“You okay there dude?” Steve asked as he tried to turn to look at Rohan. His mouth twisted into a frown of concern as he tried to check up on the man until he realised…he couldn’t remember their name. It began with an…S…something. Sanjit? Samir? But as he tried to focus, he felt a wave of nausea pass over him, like something was punishing him for not having his complete and total attention on the game. “W-What the heck is this game…”
As Steve looked back at the game, focusing and uncertain, his accent began to shift. His parted lips and widened eyes began to relax, giving off an almost slack expression as he stared at the mesmerising visuals of the game. “Game…looks…so…good…” Steve said in a murmur of a slightly higher voice that no longer sounded like his own.
At the same time Steve could faintly recognize something happening to his body. At first it felt like the strength was leaking out of him, little by little, until the familiar density of muscle gave way to something looser. The shift was oddly natural, almost comforting, as though a weight he’d carried for years was being peeled away. His broad abs began softening into nothing, the scars from his time as a soldier and the super soldier experiment all beginning to fade away.
What had once been a frame carved by years of training was becoming lankier and softer in all the places that used to be sharp. The pale skin began to darken, first beginning as a faint warmth and then deepening to bronze as it smoothly crept down his body like ink spreading through water. The sleeves of his shirt slid against thinner arms dusted with the faint hair that hadn’t been there before. All the while his fingers stretched longer, growing softer and more delicate and gripping the controller with an anxious energy he didn’t recognize as his own.
“Yeah the game looks so good, I’m…glad it uh…worked out…” said Rohan as he continued to stare. Steve blinked.
“Yeah worked out…No yeah I loved working on the game,” confirmed Steve as he grunted. He could feel his legs shrinking too, making him grow slightly shorter though with less muscles, he was beginning to seem more lanky than broad and tall. All the while Rohan could feel like air was being injected into his upper chest as his pecs began to swell, growing and inflating and making his nipples harden underneath the already tight shirt that could no longer cover the lower half of his stomach as he blushed and moaned.
“No I…worked on the game I…was…a developer consultant,” replied Rohan as he blinked. Consultant? No he was the lead…lead…consultant after all, who would know Captain America best?
He wanted to say something, but that was when he felt something else inflate as if it was filling with air, causing him to grunt and sit up even higher as his cheeks began to grow. The pressure of the changes coiled in his hips and thighs as his legs tingled with the same pleasure and heaviness that was spreading across his body. His thighs pressed outward, stretching the fabric as they swelled with new density, every seam groaning in protest.
His calves grew, once spindly but now carved into powerful bastions of muscle as his ass continued to grow and grow. The couch sagged deeper as his glutes surged, rounding and hardening with a weight that felt both foreign and inevitable. Rohan could feel the denim split, hearing the faint pop of stitching as eat of his jeans tried and failed to contain what was now unmistakably growing to be…AMERICA'S ASS.
“O-Oh my god…I…I…” Rohan would have squeezed his legs together in the past, like that could somehow stop the horniness that was invading his cock as his ass and legs grew paler and devoid of the usual dark hairs. His bulge was already growing next, half because he was harder than he had ever been before and half because his cock was growing from whatever forces was changing him.
“I had to do…so much work…for the game, really was a lot…”
Rohan added with a voice that wasn’t his own, one that was deeper and richer and sounded exactly like the voice that was coming from the game, the voice behind Captain America’s quips as a sharp pressure came at his feet. His toes pressed hard against the ends of his socks before finally tearing through, pale fabric ripping as his feet surged longer and wider. His toes stretched and spread as the soles expanded beneath him. The converses that he’d worn comfortably all day suddenly bulged at the seams, leather squealing under the new size and weight until it looked like they might split apart at any second.
“That…that doesn’t sound right, I’m trying to remember reading all about it,” mused Steve as his own voice had shifted completely to the slightly more higher pitched and nervous sounding tone of Rohan. He blinked, his eyes growing darker and hazier, already forgetting about the missions he had done for the past year and then the year before that and the year before that as all he could think about was the game.
“We’re over time but we shouldn’t stop, we’re nearly finished.” Steve scratched at his face as his fingertips no longer traced the familiar hard line of his jaw. His face was beginning to shift, His jawline, once sharp and square, softened under his touch.
The solid edge drew inward, narrowing into something more delicate, more angular. His cheeks followed suit, the fullness draining until they hollowed just slightly, reshaping his face into something that was longer as his eyes were suddenly adorned with thick glasses. The pale tone of his visage continued to shift, deepening shade by shade to match the rest of his body as his blonde hair darkened and grew longer, spilling out into dark messy curls over a higher brow. Steve blinked, unsure why he was so surprised, feeling his face…he was only 29 after all.
“Yeah…let’s not stop, we’re almost over-” and as Rohan leaned forward and continued to be mesmerised by the game, he was growing more and more infatuated with his character. He knew every detail of the suit, every move, every nuance of the character. But he blinked, blinked as his own glasses fell off his face as his nose shortened and disappeared before they hit the ground. His brown eyes turning blue as the pale tone that had reached his thickening throat was beginning to crawl over his jawline that suddenly widened and hardened. His hairline crawling back slightly as the dark curls receded into a natural slicked back blonde style whilst his features grew sharper and rougher and larger especially his growing lips as he blinked. Why wouldn’t he know his character? He was the character. He was Captain America. This was his game. “W-Wait…I think…”
But there was nothing to think about. The mission ended and just as Rohan and Steve looked at one another in shock and recognition, both their hard cocks throbbed at once and they had only the time for one thing and one thing alone; realisation. All before they suddenly felt their cocks throb in tandem and finally…release.
Their cocks spasmed violently, releasing in perfect sync, a shared climax as both their heavy moans suddenly filled the room as both bodies bucked. Rohan’s hips twitched as he was in Captain America’s muscular body with the hero’s hung cock between his legs spilling thick ropes of cum stained his clothes, pooling in his lap. At the same time Steve in Rohan’s body gasped as it felt like he was cumming for the first time in his life, the sweet bliss of pleasure rushing over him and making him forget everything for just a few moments as his own six inch cock twitched and come in his clothes.
“O-Oh god…w-what the-” Rohan in Steve felt his body, his face, his muscles. “W-What happened to me?!” Steve in Rohan panicked, gasping as he looked down at himself.
“N-no this can’t be-”
But then came another climax, making both men forget their panic for just a moment as their minds were colliding and folding into one another. The decks of their lives shuffled amongst one another that it was hard to tell which piece was what.
“M-my head…I keep remembering…battles and…and world war two and…Bucky and…god Bucky…”
“N-No I don’t want to forget…” Steve in Rohan’s body moaned as he tried to hold on. But all the willpower was in the muscular hunky body that was once his own next to him. “O-Oh god I’m-”
But their cocks twitched again and their old lives melted, dissolving into something else as Rohan Steve gasped as he came again one last time and Steve Rohan moaned as he couldn’t stop himself from doing the same. Rohan…or rather Steve was the first to move, blushing as he felt Steve Roger’s natural embarrassment for doing anything like cumming in public flare up whilst Steve or rather Rohan felt the same, but more out of natural awkwardness rather than dignity. Both the men’s eyes met.
“I’m…I’m you,” Steve said as he looked at Rohan and Rohan blinked.
“I’m you…but uh h-how? I…I can remember your life…fuck my head…”
“Swear,” both Steve and Rohan said simultaneously.
“T-This is…this isn’t right. The game, we used quantum computing for the engine, I- I don’t know how this happened…”
The air remained thick, not just with the fading warmth of their lust, but with a quiet and almost sacred stillness that followed a transformation too bizarre to name. The both of them still somehow had their minds as they gazed at one another, the other in their body. It was such a bizarre feeling, as if looking in the mirror and realising that the reflection was blinking all on their own.
But at the same time there was also a quiet thrill to it as the other looked down, prodded at their muscles (or lack of muscles), flexed a muscular bicep (or touched their skinny one) and felt their face, their new jawline and features. Both the men stopped as they realised what they were doing, almost mirroring each other in their inspections as they still managed to somehow keep their minds about them, even if it was fused with one another.
“I’m…you,” Rohan continued as he glanced down at himself and the massive muscles. In all honesty, he had never felt physically better and more mentally anxious than ever before in his life. It was as if the feeling he got from his runs on the treadmill or few times he decided to visit the gym had compounded and formed a permanent bliss that permeated his newer bigger body.
But there was something else too, as if he was watching a movie, he could see the memories of Steve Rogers all the way from the 30s and 40s, the skinny young man who was even thinner than he was, unhealthily so, doing anything and everything he could to serve his country. Rohan blinked and had to admit, being in such a muscular body felt good, even if there was a strange balance, like he was scared if he took a step then he’d fall over.
He felt Steve’s own earnestness, his confidence leaking into him and almost infecting him.
“And I’m…you?” Steve said, still not used to his newer voice. In his mind, there was still a tenacity, one that reminded him of himself before he got the Super Soldier serum. It didn’t come in the form of a man trying to fight for his country, but instead just navigating the modern world and trying to make something of themselves. He could see the memories as far back, trying to save up to start a company, registering the LLC, working late nights out of his home. All the sacrifices and meetings and blood, sweat and tears that had not only gone into making this game but making anything of value. It was a far cry from being a soldier, but isn’t that the kind of world Steve wanted? Where people could prove their worthiness in different ways that didn’t involve war? It felt like watching someone’s life on TV or that site, Wikipedia that helped him understand so much of what he missed whilst frozen. Although he missed his body, the strength and muscles, he had to admit, there was a sort of relaxing feeling being younger and skinny again. But this wasn’t right. They had to swap back! “H-how did this happen?”
“I…I don’t know,” replied Rohan as he glanced down at himself in disbelief. “This…this feels…”
“Weird?” Rohan was pleasantly surprised to see Steve chuckle in his body. “Look you clearly didn’t do this on purpose so let’s just figure out a way to work together and…turn back.”
“Y-Yeah I can’t…I mean this is…I can’t actually be Captain America…and you can’t be stuck in some…” Rohan gestured at Steve in his old body. “Uh well we know who got the short end of the deal.”
“Hey let’s not…say stuff like that,” said Steve. Even now he was being so…nice even if he went through something that should have been shattering his reality, his sense of self, should have made him panic. But if they still had their minds, then they must clearly have some of their old mental traits as well.
“Yeah…”
“Though I definitely felt like I was losing mine before. Now maybe it’s because we don’t know how this things work but I kinda get the sense that whatever this…thing is…” Steve gestured at the console.
“It’s true. You’re Captain America and I’m…uh…” Rohan glanced down at himself in the star spangled hero’s body. He tried to ignore how much the man’s pecs turned him on as he swallowed dryly.
“I could’ve been put in a billion worse people, besides you’re not…bad. A lot of this is just confidence, that and highly risky untested serum.” Steve gestured at the muscular body Rohan was in as Rohan smiled at that, at least appreciative the hero was still, well, being a hero, trying to assure him everything was okay. “The way I see it…somehow we both still have our heads.” Steve gestured at the console.
“It was trying to mess with our minds. I have the serum that could’ve helped but you seemed to keep yourself…as you too. Maybe it says a lot more about you than you think…and good thing too, I don’t know enough about this thing even with your head to…fix whatever this is.” Rohan blinked at the man’s words as he considered them.
He had never even come close to thinking about it, but if the quantum computer could somehow change their bodies like it was code, it should have done the same with their mind, programming them as if they were caricatures, NPCs.
But it didn’t. They both managed to hold on. What did that say about the technology? And if it was meant to work and wipe their minds…what did it say about him? He blinked again.
He doubted that he was even half as attractive as the hero but there was something about seeing himself from another man’s perspective, the warped features he once hated in the mirror didn’t look…as bad from another person’s eyes. He blinked.
“Uh yeah your memories are…a lot,” Rohan half joked, not only were they heavy but there were so many of them reaching so far back. “N-Not that I’m complaining. I mean I don’t want to…uh…say your body is bad…but…I think maybe I shouldn’t look at them too much. Uh kinda an invasion of privacy and I wanna keep a hold of my mind.”
“Are you sure you can manage?” Even now, Steve in another man’s body was looking out for someone else rather than himself.
“Yeah I’m sure I can do this all day,” said Rohan with an ease before he blinked.
“What was that?” Steve questioned. “I…I don’t know, that just felt…uh sort of right saying but that’s your…”
“Catchphrase…not that I really intended on one but growing up in wartime you learn that slogans stick,” said Steve with a casualness. Rohan was relieved, as if he half expected Steve to be angered someone else was in his body and now saying his words. “So what’s gonna happen? Am I gonna start listing off…game engine…things?”
“Game engine things?” “Like how you used my words, am I going to suddenly start rambling about how quantum processing is actually a brilliant and efficient way to cut back on cut back on loading times, procedural generation overhead, and memory thrash- Oh…Oh fuck-”
“Swear,” both Rohan and Steve said simultaneously again.
“Okay, okay…maybe we just…calm down. And figure out how this happened and-” Rohan said, nervously pacing and fidgeting in Steve’s body.
“Alright relax, I’m not mad at you. Weirder things have happened to me…I get it,” said Steve with a slight smile, even now the way he spoke, the confidence leaked out even if it was in another body. “It was the game, something…” Then the man’s eyes widened with realisation. “The game!” Steve started as he sat up. “We need to fix this…if we can, uh we can get to Tony’s before he does what he does next.” “Does next?” Rohan in Steve’s body asked as he blinked.
“He hacked into your office to play a demo of the game. He told me he would He’s playing with Bucky right now.”
“Oh…Oh no uh…” replied Rohan as he stood up awkwardly in the much taller and broader body than he was used to. “How do we stop them?” It was only then that he realised he had no idea, memories of programming and even the game’s engine having filtered out.
“I don’t know but I do know this…if that game gets into Stark’s servers and somehow mutates or gets shared then…”
Then a whole lot of men would suddenly find themselves swapping bodies or turning into Avengers, both Steve and Rohan thought to themselves. With no way to figure out the extent of it, no way to predict who transforms into who and no way to wonder what would happen if someone was playing alone? What if the game made clones of heroes? What if it recruited heroes, all with one transformation at a time? Steve and Rohan both glanced at each other and blushed, remembering the pleasure they shared, the mess they made and now the mess they may soon have to clean up.
Sooner or later, it seemed every man who got their hand on the game could get a body to marvel.
Rohan just wondered…does that mean he had to wear the suit?
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